


Apologies

by Doctor_Whos_Lost221B_Companion



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Best Friends, Drama, F/M, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Implied Torture, Kidnapping, Love, M/M, Psychological Drama, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Roleplay Logs, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-07-29
Packaged: 2017-11-26 13:46:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 49,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/651123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctor_Whos_Lost221B_Companion/pseuds/Doctor_Whos_Lost221B_Companion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The life of Molly Hooper will change for the best and the worst. </p><p>nodaybuttodaytodefygravity from tumblr: Molly, John </p><p>DWL221B_C: Sherlock, Jim, Sebastian, Lestrade</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Molly...can we talk? -SH

What do you need? -MH

I just came back from Switzerland now and need lodgings how is he? -SH

He's not doing well. I'm sorry, Sherlock. He's a broken man now. -MH

Hm... I'm in a cab, you at Bart's or your flat? -SH

Bart's. I had to work late. -MH

I'll be there. Help you out. Three minutes. Ok? ...Unless you don't want to see me...or if inconvenient. -SH

No, that's fine. I'd love to see you. It's been awhile… -MH

Yes, coming round the corner. -SH

The cab pulled up in front of the hospital, Sherlock paid, and stepped out, glancing around to be sure no one saw him. Out of habit, he light a smoke and preceded inside, no one noticing. 

Knowing she only had about a minute before he showed up; Molly checked the mirror and fixed her hair. Even after all they'd been through, she wanted to look her best for Sherlock. There was just something about him that was so...fascinating. 

Walking up the stairs and past a few lab windows, he saw his reflection. ‘Different’ was the only word he could think of. Green contacts, ginger brown hair cut slightly shorter than before, though ‘same cheek bones’, he thought slightly smiling in his own amusement though his face fell again.

"Molly?" he knocked on the lab door at the end of the hall, "No one else?"

"Just me in here," Molly answered, her heart inexplicably beat faster. It was stupid, and she knew it. He didn't care for her like that. 

"Come on in."

Entering, his coat swept behind him, Sherlock crushed the cigarette in his glove and tossed it in the rubbish bin. 

"Hello Molly, fairing well?"

"As usual…" Molly started slowly until she picked up her head from a microscope. ‘He looked so different!’ Not just in appearance, she knew he'd had to disguise himself, change his hair, eyes etc, no this was more than that. He looked older. Like someone who'd lived lifetimes of hardship. With effort she tried to push the thoughts aside and pretended like she hadn't noticed. 

"How was Switzerland?"

Sherlock walked in heaving a sigh, removing his gloves to shove them into his pockets. He walked over to her and sat on a stool, rubbing his eyes tiredly, and then scratched the back of his head. 

"Another dead end. The web certainly stretched far and wide, but his roaches hide just as well."

"Damn. Well, what's next then? Are you staying here long?" Molly turned back to the microscope, through which, she was studying blood samples before Sherlock had texted her.

"Not sure... might see Mycroft I suppose, see if he gathered any more evidence and to observe if he has become any rounder," Sherlock chucked, wanting to relax her. Under observation he saw her twitch when he entered the room. It was the smallest of twitches but he knew she could see something. The idea made him curious, for what was it she saw? Maybe what she saw was pathetic? Pitiful? Or dark? 

"Do you mind?" he indicated to the remaining blood samples and the microscope next to her.

"Of course not. Be my guest." She stepped back from the microscope and gestured him forward. ‘Now for the tricky part.’ Sherlock had never been one to talk about anything personal, especially not in person, but she had to ask. 

"Will you be... uh... seeing John at all?"

The Petri disk almost slipped from Sherlock’s hand, though he controlled himself not to. He placed the specimen under, watched it, but not deducing with full attention. 

"No... I know you say he's broken, but I think he is strong enough to eventually  
pick himself up. I felt he had the potential to find a partner of sorts, someone for distraction. I sort of just wanted to see you really..." Sherlock answered as he tilted his head slightly from the scope, eyes turned to Molly. 

‘Me? Did he say me?’ Molly felt that same, rare rush of warmth through her like it did whenever someone acknowledged her existence. She knew they could be considered almost friends. After all, who had he gone to when he needed help faking his death? Little Molly Hooper, of all people. It was baffling for her to move past that feeling that he saw her as special. 

“Why though? Why me?”

"Because- Because I just did" Sherlock had no real logic behind it, not entirely sure himself.

“Loneliness maybe? Plus let's not forget you are one of people I trust most in, I guess the world," he responded matter of fact and returned his attention to the sample. Not only had a few seconds passed when he picked up the pen and paper on the table, writing something down. Quickly he checking the others he found the same result. 

"Done. Alcohol poisoning most likely."

In the time it had taken for Sherlock to deduce the cause of death, Molly had calmed herself down and stopped smiling enough to make her face look normal. With him back she couldn't help feeling plain giddy by how much trust he put in her. 

"Thanks. That was all I had left tonight. I suppose we can go now," Molly said, with the tiniest hint of a schoolgirl smile left in her voice. Giving her a wink, Sherlock grinned a little, happy to solve something other than his personal case. Something for a friend. In a way he felt at home. Before he could lose himself in though, he stood quickly, adjusting his coat and moved to the door, opening it for her. 

"Lead the way stranger."

Molly grabbed her coat, shut the lights off, and started down the hallway. It was silent for a few moments as they walked together then she brought it up once more. 

"It's just... he needs you, Sherlock and don't pretend you don't need him too. Are you ever going to tell him you're alive?"

Sherlock bit his lip and then clicked his tongue. 

"Not intending to sound cruel but there is a population of seven billion in this world. I would rather he find someone to be safe with, another friend who could protect him properly. I miss him I do. I miss the old life, running about and solving cases...visiting the hospital- for the bodies I mean," he ended promptly. 

"Come on, I'll get the cab,” he strode ahead of her until outside his fingers itched for another smoke, but he restrained himself. Behind him Molly sighed heavily because she knew there was no talking him out of it and she just hated seeing John so broken. Being one of the very few who knew of Sherlock's continued existence; she had tried to distance herself from John. In hind sight Molly did not want to accidentally let anything slip to him, though it was the wrong choice. John needed a friend at that time and she should've been there. Ever since, there was uncontrollable guilt whenever John was mentioned, and she was trying as hard as she could to make it up to him by reuniting him with Sherlock. But it didn't look that would be happening any time soon. 

A cab noticed Sherlock's gestures and pulled up in front of them. Molly slid silently through the door Sherlock held open for her, lost in thought even when she mumbled her address. The cab sped through London, past the crowds of the common people, a burst with the noise and hustle, bustle of the city. Silence hung heavy in the car and Sherlock felt the weight. He glanced to Molly, trying to read her emotions. There was only one way he could think of to snap her back to reality. 

"Any new men in your life?" Sherlock asked quietly.

A bit startled, Molly gave a short laugh.  
"Of course not. When you accidentally date the most dangerous criminal mastermind in the world, you tend to become overly cautious... not that I ever dated much. I mean... look at me," she blushed heavily, "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to get all pathetic. Just... no. No, there's no new man in my life."

"Don't cut yourself short Molly, you're not pathetic,” Sherlock stated, giving her a small smile.

"Oh, you're just saying that because I'm letting you stay with me," the mouse tried to say this in a teasing way, but she honestly believed it to be true.

"O really? So your courageous help was only carried out by my intimidation?"

"Don't be thick, Sherlock. I helped you because we're friends and I care about you."  
She was feeling more ridiculous by the second. Why was she telling him these things?

"I wouldn't lie to you Molly, not after everything that's happened. So what I said before- ah ha! Here we be!" Paying the cabbie, he stepped out, offering her a hand. Her keys were in her bag but Molly didn't want to let go of his hand, yet after a couple seconds, she had to. ‘No need to freak him out by touching him longer than necessary.’

"Anyway, you were saying? In the cab, just a minute ago?"

"Hm? Oh, yes, just that what I said before is truth, very brave Ms. Molly Hooper. Especially ending a relationship with a psychopath murderer." Sherlock clenched his fist, trying to preserve the warmth she left behind.

"To be fair, I didn't know he was a psychopath at the time." With keys found she led him up the walkway, Molly found the right one but it took a minute to unlock the door. Her hands were shaking nervously and she tried desperately to hide it from Sherlock. 

"Damn keys," with an attempt at a laugh so that perhaps he wouldn't notice.

He smirked, adoring her eccentricities. "Of course you didn't, he fooled the best of us, and I even had some small doubt that I might be going mad."

"That's right!" Molly said, remembering and getting the door open at the same time, "Someone fooled the great Sherlock Holmes" Luckily she actually managed a real smile and widened the door to let him in.

“Thank you,” giving a bit of an unnatural shudder as he stepped in, "Right. Cozy..." 

A couch and small overstuffed chair. Lamp beside it and telly in front. He noticed the small hallway that led to what he guessed was the kitchen and her bedroom. Some small clutter had apparently invaded the furniture.

"I'm sorry, if I'd known you were coming I'd have tidied up a bit," the mouse squeaked, clearing off the armchair of a spare coat and straightening the pillows on the couch. 

"I'll sleep in here and you can have my room, once I make the bed and all. I'm sorry that I'm so disorganized."

"No, no, your flat, your bed. Please its fine, no worries? I'm the rude one for not properly ringing first," Sherlock moved to the chair and sat comfortably.

"Don't worry about that. You know you can come by any time you need to."

Scurrying here and there, Sherlock watched Molly with interest and let his head back to close his eyes, enjoying the peace. After this and that were fixed, until the room was as perfect as she could make it,

"Hungry?"

'When did I last eat?' Sherlock felt his stomach searching his mind for the last meal and then decided he probably should.  
"Guess so, need help?"

Molly looked at him with raised eyebrows, smiling "Like you cook. What shall I make you, Mr. Holmes?"

"Oi I have been taking care of myself", 'Sort of…' he thought, "Anything or maybe even order in. Please, whatever is most convenient."

"Let's see what we have, then." Her disbelieving smile continued at the thought of Sherlock cooking anything without setting it on fire, so Molly walked down the hall to the kitchen with Sherlock in tow. 

"Something simple like a sandwich? Or I have some lasagna from last night that we can heat up. Your choice."

"Sandwich is good enough. Don’t think I can’t hear your doubt; I learned to cook from the maids when I was a child. I think they put up with me more because while I helped them, Mycroft ate all the cakes and sweets!" he laughed heartily and even startled himself, having not heard himself sound joyful in awhile. ‘This was all too good to be true’, Molly thought. Sherlock was back, he was here and above all, he was laughing. ‘Allowing himself to show emotion...’ Unsure what to say, she kept quiet, so as to not embarrassing him about showing his joy, and busied herself with the sandwiches.

"Here we are! I hope it's to your liking," Molly announced and took one for herself. Pulling out a chair and seating himself, Sherlock tasted it, and then really began to eat. 

"Pretty good Chef Hooper!" 'Must have been hungrier than I analyzed...’ He gave her a smile because he felt more relaxed around her. Sherlock was always glad to have Molly in his company; someone to accept his behavior even during the times he had abused her.

"Thanks," Molly was so pleased that he didn't take this opportunity to intensely analyze the sandwich, the room or, worst of all, her. No matter how long it had been, she was always reminded of that Christmas years back where he'd deduced her to the point of tears, but then apologized and kissed her cheek. That had become the worst and best night of her life, sadly enough. But, Molly then realized that she'd been silent for much too long and pulled herself back onto reality. 

"So, what to do now?" 

He'd finished his sandwich and she was munching on the last bite of hers.  
"Hmmm, well I guess whatever it is you do on a Friday night, if you want to go out you certainly can. I just need to...loaf around? Sounds so silly really..." Sherlock sat up, took the plates, and moved to the sink. He started the wash for her because he began to feel like such a burden, having dropped out of the sky on her doorstep.

"Me? I never do anything…" Molly answered in disappointment. This was quite true. Every night consisted of eating then watching the telly or reading a book until boredom overtook her and then to bed. 

"I was hoping you might know of something normal people do for fun." After she said it, she remembered this man was far from normal and things that would entertain little Molly Hooper would bore him till no end.

"Nothing? No way you can do nothing Molly. Normal... don't people just watch telly sometimes when trying to ‘unwind’?" Sherlock questioned as he dried his hands and stepped lightly back into the living room.

"I got the remote. Please tell me you don't watch celebrity gossip rubbish," he said darkly when he sat on the couch and flicked on the box to some channel.

“Not often… Sometimes, it dulls the mind…” she said ashamed, “If it’s the only thing on.” Molly did not know how he was going to react, but she wanted to know something. “Sherlock, was it hard to become a new person? After you faked your death?” Many times she tried imaging herself starting new, becoming a different person and the pain of it all.

Changing the channel to some game show on, only for the sake of background noise, Sherlock gave pause, thinking. "Well yes and no. Chasing after Moriarty's men allowed me to remain on the move, so I did not have to change too much. Although, I have a fair bit of acting skills and my disguises and all."

Eyes stared blankly at the T.V, and still puzzled what to say or if she should ask Sherlock anymore questions about his trip. He glanced over to Molly, who appeared clearly phased out, he leaned forward a bit. 

"You alright, seem a bit quite...not like you at all Molly Hooper... no," he trailed off and rested an arm on the top of the couch, drumming his fingers.

"I'm fine......thinking that’s all, you're not the only person who does that, Mr. Holmes," she joked.

Sherlock chuckled, "Yes, yes I know."

Not long, it became unsettling quiet between them as the sound of the game show continued on.

"You know, you've changed quite a bit yourself," Molly said warily. And so he had. It wasn't a terrible change, he laughed easier and more brightly, but there was still a dark part that was so very Sherlock. 

"Oh maybe? Just... seen a lot is all... going after them, evading them..." Sherlock’s face fell and his hand quivered at the thought of it. He shifted a bit uncomfortably, attempting to sit normally, and trying to hold himself together when the images flashed.

"Oh God...I'm so sorry!" Molly noticed his change in tone and realized she must have touched on a sensitive topic, "I didn't mean to..." she trailed off, not quite knowing where she was going with the sentence. To avoid the awkward in the room, she gazed blankly at the mindless droning coming from the telly.

"No... it's ok... just that... I did get caught once...I escaped but it was three days..." his voice shook slightly, "just...three days of hell..." he rubbed his right shoulder. In the past Molly felt she had never been good at comforting people but she thought this would be a logical time to do so. She stood up from her seat in the armchair and sat next to Sherlock on the sofa. Unsurely, a hand was placed on his other shoulder and gave it a small, light squeeze. Sherlock nearly jumped out of his skin, forgetting that she was there for the moment. 

"Sorry," he muttered watching the hand holding him, it was warm and he didn't mind the touched. Hoping to not deter her, Sherlock tried to show his appreciation with a weak smile.

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to frighten you. I just thought you could use some comforting..." Molly mumbled, looking down. Though she wasn't sure if he appreciated it or not, she didn't remove her hand.

"No, it's fine," he said quietly before he took the arm that was bothering him before and rested his palm onto of hers, “You really do know how to help me, don't you Molly?"

"I hope I'm helping," she whispered. Never before did she experience anything like what he'd gone through, so she hoped that her presence alone could, in some way, mean something to him.

Sherlock actually blushed, despite his efforts not to. Carefully he wrapped his fingers around her wrist, scratching the skin lightly with his index finger. 

"Yes... you really are..." he whispered back.


	2. Chapter 2

No words. Molly had spent years of her life being a sad little puppy, pining after this man who never looked twice at her. Since Sherlock had placed his trust in her, however, she'd gained so much confidence. She'd become someone he could care about, and he'd become someone who cared. Opening and closing her mouth Molly tried speaking, but no words came out. After his analysis, Sherlock nodded his head in agreement with himself.

"There really is no possible, earthly way I could thank you enough Molly."

Weaving his left arm up against the sofa, he used the back of his hand to stroke the side of her face. She closed her eyes as his hand crossed her cheek, willing herself not to cry. As hard as she tried, she couldn't stop the one solitary tear that fell. Since everything happened Molly hardly ever cried anymore, yet this was all too much. Seeing Sherlock again after so long, him trusting her above all other, him thanking her and caring about her. It had to be a dream, though her senses told her otherwise. He was here, this was real. No dreaming or fantasy. Another minute of so pasted, Sherlock felt a change in his own eyes as he watched her expressions.

"So sorry... so, so sorry." Sherlock suddenly pulled her into him, holding her tight, and his hand holding the back of her head, "So sorry..." he kept repeating, in a low voice. Now there was no stopping the tears. That's what hugs did to Molly. If she was on the brink, a hug would push her over the edge. She sobbed silently for a few moments.

"Wasn't I supposed to be comforting you?" she asked, managing a small, teary laugh, "Why are you sorry?"

"Just... everything that happened. Putting so much responsibility in your hands," Sherlock pulled away so he could look at her. He took his thumb, wiping a tear off her cheek.

"It wasn't anything that you deserved..." unconsciously his thumb traveled to her chin, which Sherlock held carefully, "You deserve so much more in this life Molly Hooper. That is why you count and will always count."

"Sherlock, I was honored that you chose to trust me. It wasn't a burden. You're not a burden. Thank you for thinking of me as trustworthy", Molly said rather quickly, hoping he wouldn't notice her voice cracking. Meanwhile Sherlock had moved his face much closer to hers.

"Always," Giving her a light kiss on the lips, "I just want you happy now."

Her head was spinning. Had she really just gotten a kiss from Sherlock? THE Sherlock? No matter how light or fleeting it was, it still meant something to Molly. The tears stopped and she broke into a smile.

"Well, I'm definitely happy now."

"Good," pulling her into him again, Sherlock started to kiss her again, wrapping his arms around her, clasping his hands. And suddenly Molly was kissing him back with all the emotion and passion that years of wanting this had led up to. Being in his arms like this was everything she had hoped for. Unintentionally, Sherlock slipped his tongue into her mouth, but pulled away quickly.

"O um... I- uh..."

"No, it's um... it's alright..." She was startled of course. Molly hadn't had many boyfriends in her life, and even with the ones she had, they hadn't done much kissing. It was something new, something different in her life for once, but she was sure she didn't mind it.

"You are very, very cute by the way. Just an observation in passing..." Sherlock noted, then beginning again with passion. He waited far too long to figure out his feelings for her, and now after all these years, it was catching up to him. Molly pulled away just slightly and gave a small gulp because she had some things she wanted to say, things that needed saying.

"I'm sure you know this by now, but I think you're very smart and talented... and... um… well very handsome," she finished nervously.

Sherlock smirked. "Course I'm clever. Talented, yes, genius. Now handsome... that's a new one. Well I would like to say, you are reliable, loyal, terrible coffee maker, sweet, innocent, adorable, loving, and beautiful."

That was more than anyone had ever said about her before. He couldn't be serious... could he?

"I'll give you the bad coffee part. I am rather lousy," Molly giggled. That was new, giggling without being nervous. Then again she didn't mind it either.

"But take everything else ok? I mean it", he said a bit seriously, staring into her eyes, losing himself in them, "I can't believe I was blinded and foolish. My own arrogance I assume. Or if not that the many barriers I built to deny my emotions..." Sherlock shook his head and gave a small gulp, never feeling so vulnerable and honest until now. Staring back into his eyes then Molly knew he was being honest for they did not lie this time. This must be costing him every ounce of courage he had, which was a lot, because she'd never seen him like this before; open and real. No sarcastic retorts, no uncaring insults to mask his true feelings. What Sherlock had gone through had obviously made him rethink his life.

"You don't know what this means to me, Sherlock," Molly responded, deciding it was best to answer honesty with honesty.

"I've cared about you distantly for the longest time and I never thought it would come to this. I never thought you'd notice me."

Well, honesty had sounded good, but now that she said it, her cheeks reddened uncontrollably. Hearing this made him wince a little, the truth stung.

"Which is why I am so sorry... I knew but pushed you away in what I thought was 'defense'. But I was wrong and I am never wrong..." Sherlock managed, breaking away as he was twirling some of her hair in his fingers. Averting his eye the detective could not look to her, he felt he did not deserve to. Instead Molly placed her hand on Sherlock's cheek and turned his head so their eyes met.

"I forgive you," she said, a little louder than she meant to because she wanted him to know that it was in the past. The difficult memories still remained, but they were completely forgiven now.

"M-Molly..." he leaned in again, this time unafraid. Still sitting, he twisted his body a bit so his hands rested beside her, holding onto the cushions. Pushing himself forward, he closed his eyes and took her in, as he felt butterflies mount in his stomach. Molly's heart was pounding so loud she thought for sure he must be able to hear it. It was uncontrollable. Never before had the timid girl felt this close to someone, this needed or wanted. Feeling self conscious and unsure of what exactly to do with her hands, Molly wrapped the left around Sherlock's neck and ran the right through his newly ginger brown hair.

By this point, Sherlock did not even realize his presence had pushed Molly into the end of the sofa arm, and shifting his weight on his left arm while his right hand delicately held her side, almost careful as if not to break her. For someone so strong, Sherlock was remarkably gentle and Molly was incredibly grateful for this, as she was rather new to this sort of thing. But with him, she felt so safe. Usually, she was afraid of new experiences, but not this one; not with Sherlock holding her. He was fighting the urge to shake, trying to remain steady, but it was difficult when he felt a silky hand invade his hair, he breathed out a sigh. Finally he felt brave enough to twist the rest of himself, his knees resting on the side of her, the tips of his fingers lightly poking her side.

"Hi..."

"Hi," Molly whispered back, smiling hugely and brightly. She gazed into his hypnotically beautiful eyes not knowing what else to say, yet having so much she wanted to tell him. Instead, she remained silently smiling, thinking that she'd be happy to stay in this moment for the rest of time. Sherlock started to kiss her again and carefully he let himself rest onto her, feeling very comfortable, but his heart was completely irregular, out of balance... he didn't care. It was getting a bit hard to breath for Molly and at the same time she didn't want to stop kissing him in the fear that he'd suddenly change his mind and leave her here alone. With an idea, Sherlock planted quick light pecks on her mouth, then to her cheek, leading down to her neck where he kissed extra carefully, not wanting to frighten her.

He let his left arm rest above her head on the arm of the sofa while his right hand traveled down to her waist where he gave a light squeeze. Unconsciously he released a light sigh, breathing into her skin as he smelled her faint perfume. As his lips lightly grazed her skin, Molly brought her right hand up to meet his left above her head, intertwining their fingers. She let her other hand wander until it found his soft hair again and stroked it. Sherlock smiled as he nuzzled his face into her neck, he loving rubbed her hip and sides, and he shifted his weight a bit more comfortably. Molly turned and kissed the top of his head as it was hovering near her neck. Out of all the things that had happened tonight, this small act was the one that prompted her into speech.

"Sherlock, I don't want to alarm you but... I think..." she cleared her throat and continued, "I think I may be...in love...with you." She'd thought this for years but it wasn't until tonight that she knew for sure. After she held her breath in preparation for the worst and slowly Sherlock lifted his head and stared back.

"Mhm, as if that's a problem. I love you too Molly Hooper, which is what all my deductions indicate." He gave a light squeeze with his hand, in reassurance. Her face broke into the biggest smile of the evening and possibly of her life.

"That's my girl."

As much as she couldn't believe it, she could tell he was being honest. Here was this man, this gorgeous, intelligent man with her who truly loved her. Thinking back to all the times people had told her he wasn't interested and that she should forget about Sherlock Holmes or when he'd blown her off or insulted her accidentally, she was glad she'd never given up. It was well worth the heartache. Sherlock chuckled, just allowing the happiness to soak in, and he started to trace a finger down her forearm, leaving her hand to rest, when he felt it. 'God no, don't do this to me...' But his body won and he felt shooting pain on his right side.

"Fuck!" Sherlock quickly lurched off her, sitting up right. Doubling over he squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to rub the pain away.

"Sherlock!" Molly screamed in terror, shooting up into a sitting position, "What's happening? Sherlock, what is wrong?"

He gritted his teeth unable to speak, gripping the front of his shoulder. Using his left hand, he opened up his sweatshirt and moved the collar of his t-shirt over, looking inside. Disgusted with himself he grunted.

"Damn thing, p-please," panting, "it's fi-" his head dropped in pain and Molly felt all of the blood drain from her face. Her voice shaking, she asked again.

"Sherlock, what is happening to you?" She tried to steady her voice but it was no use as she could hear the panic ringing through every syllable.

"Just- just an injury..." Sherlock began to feel it wear away a bit, as a bead of sweat fell, panting. With a small prayer, he moved the shirt of his collar again and looked, hoping it would have disappeared, but as always, it remained.

"What kind of injury? What can I do? I have a First Aid kit, let me go get that!" she said nervously, leaping to her feet suddenly and running down the hall to the bathroom and returned in seconds, carrying a small red container. When she'd sat back down and hurriedly opened the case, she found very little.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry but I never thought I'd have to use this... so I didn't keep it stocked," Molly said hysterically. A few small bandages and one hand towel? What good would they do at a time like this?

"I'm so sorry," she whispered over and over, in a full blown panic now.

"No please... it's fine." Sherlock almost attempting to scramble away. 'Shit' his arm felt like dead weight, "Nothing you can do about it..."

"Don't lie to me!" tears in her eyes now, "It's not fine! I can see how much pain you're in so please tell me what to do!" Molly's voice had gotten higher and higher as she talked until it was almost a squeak.

"Sherlock, if you don't tell me what's wrong, I'll have to call the only doctor I know well enough to ask for help." It was the last thing she wanted to do, to threaten him with this, but she was scared and he was hurt. There wasn't time to waste. This stopped all movement from him. He froze, finding the demanding side of Molly a bit shocking, but nonetheless he gave a sigh.

"No Molly, please don't..." Sherlock hesitated and he shed his sweatshirt. Slowly he began to unbutton his shirt but paused again when it slipped off one side.

"I can't Molly..."

"Why?" she asked, high pitched again, "What's so bad that you can't show me?" The tears she was trying so hard to control were threatening to spill from her eyes. Giving in, he reluctantly lifted his shirt off. An ugly scar took up residence on his skin. Black, almost charred, yet aggravating red, its tentacles spread out a bit as if it was once an invading parasite. Sherlock quickly covered it with his hand and looked away in shame.

"It eventually healed... just damaged nerve fibers is all..." Never so badly did he want to disappear from her gaze, he hated it. Molly gasped. Any blood that had somehow made its way back to her cheeks drained immediately. The tears were now flowing freely and she did nothing to wipe them away so one sob escape her lips, then covered them, knowing this would do nothing but upset Sherlock.

"I'm so sorry," Molly managed after moments of silence and slowly she placed a hand over his that lay on the scar. Words failing her again, Molly fell into his chest and wrapped her other arm around him. Taking in a sharp breath, he let his chin rest on her head and felt her tears fall on his chest. He patted and rubbed her back with his other hand in attempt comfort.

"Nothing to apologize, not your fault..."

"I know... I just wish there was something I could do. Does it just start hurting again every once in awhile?"

"Ya... just," gulp, "here and there. Shhhhh. It's okay. Please," Sherlock pushed her back a bit and gave her a simple kiss, "You're making me deal with it a bit easier," he explained with a sheepish smile. By now, her heart rate had slowed back to normal and she managed to stop crying.

Wiping her face, she said, "I'm sorry for losing it there for a bit. I just hated seeing you in such pain." Molly stared fixedly at the floor as she said this, knowing she'd been foolish. As the person who wasn't experiencing blinding physical agony, she should have been the one to remain calm and collected.

"Thank you though... I guess, maybe we could just cover it so... so you don't have to look at it..."

"I suppose you could do that," She paused, not wanting to make him uncomfortable, but she had to say it, "I wouldn't have done it, you know... called John. Not if you didn't want me to. I apologize for bringing him up... I was just so worried."

"No... No I- I understand... don't worry, I will go to him at some point... apologize to him too... look, we can use a gauze and bandage ok?" The detective quickly evaded the subject.

"Okay."

Molly leaned to the floor to retrieve the First Aid kit. It had fallen or been knocked, off the sofa at some point in all the confusion. After some work with the contents of the container, she wrapped his wound and laid a light kiss on it. Sherlock tensed up and then suddenly relaxed. How... how could she? This thing plagued him, hideous... and she just kissed it as if it were a light scrape. He just watched silently, unsure what to do with himself. Finally Sherlock draped the shirt over himself and buttoned it up.

"Thank you Molly, again."

"You're welcome, but it's nothing. I'll be checking it regularly just to make sure it's alright." She wanted him to know there was nothing to be ashamed of. In her own deduction it was easy to see he seemed embarrassed by his wound, but he needed to know that it didn't repulse Molly.

"You are brilliant," pulling her in again, wrapping his arms around her hips and he kissed her. After a minute of this, Molly pulled back slightly and laid her head on his chest. She still wasn't quite over the shock of his injury yet and wanted to hold him and be held in return, just to know that he was really, tangibly there. This comforted him greatly. The small weight of her pretty head against him, slightly moving up and down as he breathed. Carefully reaching down, Sherlock pulled up her feet so she could curl into his lap as he wrapped an arm around her.

Though she knew how childish it must seem, being curled up with him like this was helping her regain her composure after that short breakdown. She could hear his heart beating and felt closer to him than she ever had before.

"Feeling better?"

"Much better, yes," she answered softly, "How about you?"

"Very much so," Leaning down he kissed her forehead, "You want to lie down?"

"Yes, that would be nice," Molly was completely exhausted and today felt like the longest day of her life.


	3. Chapter 3

Planting his feet, Sherlock picked Molly up into her arms and walked down the hall and turned into the bed room. "O bother..." The bed was still unmade, the sheets in a pile on the floor with a few pillows. Sherlock chuckled and gingerly placed her down in the pile. Moving to closet, he searched for some clean ones and she giggled from the pile of sheets, pushing herself up to stand. Once vertical, she made her way to the closet to help Sherlock find the clean sheets.

"Top shelf, back right hand corner." she said, as he seemed to be getting nowhere.

"Of course..." Sherlock pulled them out and wraps them around the corners, stretching them. Then the thin layer, draping it over, smiling to Molly.

"Thanks," she said, smiling back and helping him finish straightening the blanket, "You really didn't have to make it, though." It was her bed after all. He just smirked and tucked it at the edge of the bed.

"Nothing really..." Reaching down, he pulled the fluffy comforter over and straightened it out. Dramatically Sherlock flopped on the bed, rolling into the middle remaining face down. Unmoving.

"Well, thanks anyway," Molly laughed as she sat down next to him. A muffled noise came from underneath Sherlock.

"Comfy, are you?" she asked, smiling slightly at his silliness, since it was so rare.

"Yes", childishly, finally turning his head, watching her with one eye.

"Well good, stay there then." she said, patting his back, "I'll just borrow a couple of these," she stood and grabbed some pillows then headed for the closet where she pulled out a small blanket. With her hands full, she moved back towards the bed. "I'll be sleeping on the couch. Goodnight then..." Molly desperately didn't want to leave now, but he seemed tired and she wouldn't let him stay up just because of her.

"No wait" Sherlock scrambling up quickly, grabbing her arm, "Please don't go. Stay..." his eyes desperate, not wanting to be left alone again, even if she was merely in the other room.

"Really?" Molly asked, dropping everything she was holding and allowing him to pull her down into a sitting position next to him.

"Of course Molly" Sherlock pulling her down with him, lying on his side, "I love you remember?" Running his hand across her stomach and then up her side, so he might pull her close. She lay there, staring into his eyes. Her hand found its way to his cheek and she stroked it lightly with her thumb.

"I love you, too."

Closing the remaining gap between them, Sherlock's mouth found its way back to Molly's, quite at home. Having brought himself into her space, Sherlock hand quivered when his fingers disappeared a little underneath her shirt. He felt her warm skin underneath his finger tips, such a new sensation.

Molly gasped audibly, not expecting his cold hand on her side at that moment. Running his fingertips back and forth over her ribs, Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment so he could appreciate the smell of the perfume again, and by accident he almost gave a slight purr.

Now that she'd gotten over the shock of it, Molly could appreciate that she fully enjoyed feeling his soft hand against her skin. She'd never had much physical contact with anyone in her life, so she didn't realize how much she craved it until now. With shyness Sherlock slowly slid his hand up until he felt her bra, something seemingly very foreign to him. His left arm above his head searched for and found Molly's hand, closing in on it. Molly could tell he was nervous. Unsure what to do, the women next to him she was extremely nervous herself, so she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, hoping this helped him.

Feeling a bit self reassured, thanks to Molly, he stole himself a kiss again, and after another few moments, he ran his mouth back to her neck giving delicate kisses. Using his spidery fingers, he fiddled with the back of the bra until he felt it unhook, much to his surprise, but remained calm. 'Okay,' she thought to herself. 'Just be calm, breathe normally. Don't show him you're nervous, whatever you do don't show him you're nervous!' She tried to steady her breathing and, somehow in the process, blurted out,

"I'm sorry, I'm just a bit nervous." 'Good one, Hooper.'

"Oh and I'm not?" Sherlock replied, giving in to a small laugh as he ran a few fingers down her back, completely smooth to perfection. It was unimaginable to attempt to create a comparison that would live up to her standards.

"No, I'm sure..." Molly trailed off. What did he have to be nervous about? He was always confident, always sure of himself. Molly was meek and mouse like, timid and shy. 'Not anymore,' she thought as she built her courage and slipped her hand slightly under his shirt. Molly was utterly surprised to find sturdy muscles there and left her hand to hover on his waist.

"I am just so used to accidently insulting people or I, dunno, slip up?" Sherlock breathed out when he felt her delicate finger tips. Tracing a line from the top the shoulder, down the arm to where her hand was, he helped her gasp the top of his trousers. Flashing her a smile,

"No worries love, just let go, I'll be here to catch you."

The heart beat faster and faster, as Molly's breath quickening as well. She brought her eyes up to meet his. The smile that lit up his face warmed Molly to the core and she grinned too, though more shyly than Sherlock. For Sherlock he gave a bit of a smirk, though not wanting to be smug, he moved his hand to the rim of her pants.

"Together then?"

"Together," she whispered, breathlessly.

Sherlock started to kiss her roughly, as he unbuttoned her pants and began to slide them off her, tossing them somewhere in the room. Molly took her time undoing the button on Sherlock's pants then, rather rapidly, took them off of him, letting them land where they may, not really paying much attention. Finding this very unusual, the Detective raised an eyebrow.

"My, my Molly Hooper, being a bit courageous now," he stated happily.

"It's a new thing I'm trying out" she answered, guiltily smiling, "What do you think?"

"It suits you well. Also I think you had it before, but it was a mere spark to bring out the fire later?" Sherlock started to laugh, his stomach reverberating against hers.

"I suppose so," she said, laughing with him. "I mean, I always had these really bold things I wanted to say and do but never did them before. Now I've decided to just go for it...thanks to you." With the last word, she tapped him on the nose, still beaming.

"God you're so adorable," bonking his nose into hers, then kissing her again and she pulled back, giggling too much to keep her lips on his.

"You're pretty cute yourself, Sherlock," Molly poked his stomach in a teasing way, "Have I ever complimented you on your cheekbones?"

"Oi, my belly. No you haven't, please, do tell. I don't mind feeling a little vain today."

"Oh, they are marvelous! They're so high and beautiful. I don't know how you managed it, but you've got the greatest cheekbones I've ever seen." This new bravery thing was rather fun and it seemed impossible not to gush about his glorious cheekbones.

"You love them that much? Well here then," pushing his head underneath her chin and nuzzled his face into her. More giggling came from Molly's mouth and she pushed him away playfully.

"Why yes, I do love them. Were you not aware of how gorgeous they are?"

"Not really... thought they were a bit silly growing up..." Sherlock's face turning a bit scarlet, so he twisted his body so he was on his back.

"They're not silly," Molly retorted. She turned his face towards her and looked into his eyes. "They're lovely."

The corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched, and in a sudden roll and twist, clutching her round the middle, stopped when he found himself comfortably underneath her.

"Mmmm, better," slightly purring.

"Oh!" She had been taken aback by his sudden movement, "Better indeed," she answered after the shock had worn off. Pulling her down, Sherlock let his hands explore her back and sides, propping his feet flat so his legs were bent. Face in her neck, he bit softly, moisturizing the skin with his mouth.

The tiniest of moans escaped her lips. Molly didn't mean to let it happen and was thoroughly embarrassed, but Molly loved the feeling of his mouth on her neck. Instinctively he pushed his hips up into her and almost tore the shirt off, greedily craving for the warmth of her skin, just Molly. And hearing her, caused his veins to become enflamed. Excited she found his mouth with hers and hungrily kissed him, feeling finally alive with passion. No longer asking for permission, Sherlock slipped Molly's shirt over her body and with the bra unhooked it fell easily, causing Sherlock to pause as he looked her over. Molly froze, feeling wildly over exposed. After a moment, however, she remembered that this was Sherlock and he loved her. Her embarrassment subsided a bit.

"Brilliant..." reaching up carefully, Sherlock placed his palm flat on the middle of her chest, giving a small gulp, not out of nervousness, out of awe. She was thrilled that he seemed pleased by her body. Going through so much of her life with hardly any attention from the opposite sex, she'd begun to suspect she was disgusting or unwanted. But here was Sherlock, appreciating her. That meant everything in the world to Molly.

Sherlock sat up as Molly's legs snaked around him, and he held her back with his hands as he planted a few kisses on her chest "Molly if only you could see yourself..." groaning slightly when her thigh brushed up against him.

"What? What would I see?" Molly asked, a little panicky, assuming he'd found a flaw.

"How enticing you are right now... how- perfect?" leaning down, he kissed the top of her navel and his hands started to massage Molly's sides. Another moan escaped her, louder this time, as he did this.

"Thank you for saying such lovely things." She smiled down at him. As her sound echoed in the air, Sherlock felt himself twitch, which he tried to hide by adjusting where Molly sat. She wasn't fooled. Grinning still brighter, Molly let her hand fall to the top of his shirt where she began unbuttoning it. With it open, she leaned down and kissed his chest, though keeping the shirt itself on for the moment.

"M-m...," he closed his eyes, his words were drowned with her kisses, it was the most intoxicating drug he ever experienced. Without a shirt on his skin felt extra cool, so that when he felt her fingers it was hot, incredibly warm. Molly stopped her kissing for a moment to fully remove Sherlock's shirt and she hadn't completely done so already because of his wound. Though it was wrapped and covered, she was concerned that he might feel embarrassed by it again.

She hoped against hope that this wouldn't be the case as she threw his shirt to the floor. Curiously Sherlock tilted his head when Molly paused and noticed her eyes flicker to his fresh bandage, though at the same time she seemed to completely ignore this. 'Ok, this is good. Unafraid. Good...yes? Good?' Sherlock decided it was fine, especially watching Molly rip off his clothes. That was incredibly fine.

The second of awkwardness that followed the exposure of Sherlock's injury passed quickly, for which Molly was relieved. Glad that she hadn't ruined this perfect moment by making him feel ashamed of his body, especially not after he'd been so welcoming of hers. Placing her hand behind his head and slowly leaning down, Molly reunited their lips. In doing so, their whole bodies touched for the first time with nothing between them; his as cold as ice and hers as warm as a flame. It leaked from his mouth, Sherlock groaned, two opposites colliding... he felt he was falling, falling into something wonderful and he was taking Molly with him.

Molly exhaled with a smile, not quite as audibly as Sherlock had. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she attacked his mouth again with hers. Without even realizing it Sherlock's hands had minds of their own, snaking their way down to her

lower back, and tried slipping off her panties. Instinctively, she caught his hand as it reached the top of her underwear, giving pause, Molly needed a minute to collect herself before she was utterly and completely exposed in front of a man for the first time in her life. After closing her eyes and breathing deeply, she allowed him to continue. Sherlock's eyes snapped open when his hand was gripped, then he froze, a bit shocked what he was doing.

"So- sorry Molly... if… if..." he drew in some breath, "please I don't want to impose..."

"Impose?" Molly, of course, loved him deeply and wasn't completely against this idea, but if Sherlock didn't want to go through with it, she'd have no complaints.

"Well... I mean... just..." Sherlock stammered, 'Bloody bastard say something! Speak! Say something clever!' "um...it's...uh...I didn't mean to say imposed..."

"Okay, what then...?" She was starting to lose her nerve. She knew she loved Sherlock and wanted him, but if he wasn't ready...

"Then... you are ok with this? I just... I don't want to hurt you Molly" taking in a gulp. "It sounds rubbish I know... Does it need saying?"

Swallowing hard, unable to speak at first-

"I... I don't know how I feel... If you're okay with it... then... I guess..." her voice trailed off vaguely.

"O god Molly no I don't... I... I love you, I just don't want to... I just want you to be ready, and if you are not that is absolutely understandable," Sherlock stammered out quickly, eyes in panic.

"I'm sorry! I'm being a child, I know. This shouldn't be a big deal!" Molly squeaked, feeling absolutely foolish. 'Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry!' But as much as she tried to stop them, tears formed anyway. She had been trying to be this new, carefree, just-go-for-it kind of girl, but she couldn't seem to escape her innocence.

"But Molly it is..." Sherlock pushing himself on his elbows, "it's an important choice, it is. I suppose a life changer... please, I can wait. I have been waiting for a few years to even acknowledge you properly, so I have the rest of life to wait. I will always wait for you," brushing a tear away, smiling weakly. At his touch, Molly collapsed into his chest, tears flowing slowly from her eyes. How she had any left, after this emotional of an evening, she had no idea.

"I just feel so silly... being this old and not ever having done this! Isn't it pathetic or sad or something?"

Slowly, he let his arms settle around her, "O lovely Molly. My dear, dear. Love," petting her head, "as if you are alone," Sherlock whispered. It clicked for him, even giving himself a bit of relief. In spite of herself, she smiled into his chest and for the first time that she could remember, Molly genuinely felt like she wasn't alone.

"Thank you," she whispered back.


	4. Chapter 4

He woke up, the figure next to him sleeping soundly, and quietly as possible he climbed out of bed and dressed. Crept out silently, he left the flat, needing some fresh air, so he walked down the street and chose a cafe he had not been to in a long time. Sitting outside, he light a cigarette and sipped his black coffee, watching the public walk by as he analyzed them. 'Temp...college student...wife...oh wife and a cheater...' he thought, smirking. Then he saw him. Climbing out of the cab, 'a doctor...' he watched him from across the street, he saw John Watson lean on his cane and slowly walked into the convenience store, unknowingly he was being watched. Disappearing inside, he had an idea. How to approach him, maybe to somehow try to talk to him and he then smiled warmly to himself.


	5. Chapter 5

The early sunlight leaked through the blinds and Sherlock finally stirred, slowly blinking himself awake. Checking his watch it was early and turning over he looked to Molly. Even with little light he found her stunningly beautiful. 'It had been at least four or so days' he thought...

"Molly, Molly" carefully shaking her and kissing her cheek, "Come love you have work..."

"Mhm," she mumbled, slowly opening her eyes, "Morning," she said softly, smiling. Just like she had for the past few mornings, she couldn't believe she was waking up to this. Sherlock looked so handsome in the early morning light. Molly leaned up and planted a kiss on his lips. 'God he cherished these moments' and regretted having to ruin them.

"I must insist. Work, work, work, love," he said playfully attempting to roll her out of bed and in response she sighed dramatically.

"I suppose, if I must," was said before another kiss was stolen. Stretching, Molly made her way to the bathroom for a quick shower. It was tempting to follow her and slip inside with her, but being a 'responsible' adult Sherlock decided to make coffee and a bit of eggs and toast. Throwing on a pair of discarded boxers and some trousers he went outside into the living room. Now it was occupied with notes and photographs, files and labels. After Molly finished showering, dressed, put her hair up in a bun, and applied her usual light layer of make-up, headed for the kitchen, from which she could smell a bit of food. She grabbed a plate and joined Sherlock in the living room.

"I'm sorry that I ever doubted your culinary abilities," Molly noted in between bites and smirking ever so slightly, "This is a quite acceptable meal."

Sherlock chuckled warmly as he thumbed through some photos and notes, "Well thank you very much, my lady. Today when you get inside, slip this into to the office. This case is finished and so is... this one," handing her two files.

"Thanks" she said, taking them. "Two cases? You certainly know how to impress a girl," Molly partially teased, but she couldn't pretend like she didn't enjoy watching him show off.

"I try my best love," sighing a bit, "I do miss pick pocketing Lestrade though and calling Anderson dull." Happy his gaze looked about the room lazily until he checked the clock. "Shit Molly, go, go, go, you'll be late." He ran off to the closet to fetch her coat. Molly put on her best pouty face, indicating that she'd much rather stay here with him.

"Love... please," kissing her, "someone," kiss, "has," kiss, "to pay for the flat you know." Kiss, kiss.

"I know, I know," Taking her coat from him, she moved towards the door, "I'll see you tonight. I love you."

"Always," he gave her a wave.

As usual, when she left Sherlock, Molly felt slightly empty. She knew she shouldn't put so much emphasis on one person in her life, but the last few days had been like a dream and she wanted to stay in that fairy tale world for as long as she could.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

He waited until she left the flat, then placed on his sunglasses and a cap, hiding his hair. Popping in some ear buds he followed her from a distance. Even in the short time they had been together, he knew her routine. Leave flat. Bus. Read a book. Arrive at Bart's. Absolutely, always unaware of her surroundings.

Though she had her book open for the short bus ride, Molly wasn't really reading. All she could think about was Sherlock. Like a school girl she had to fit all of her Holmes-mania into this little bit of time before she arrived at work. Since no one there knew he was alive, she couldn't mention him staying with her. Being constantly asked why it was that she'd been smiling more brightly and Molly was running out of excuses.

He saw her smile, causing him to smile a bit warmly. She was adorable and quietly he followed her into the hospital, looking innocent as usual.

Molly went about starting her work, all the while wondering what Sherlock was up to then telling herself to get a grip and focus. He surely wasn't sitting around thinking about her... then telling herself to get a grip and focus on her work. He surely wasn't sitting around thinking about her.

Once he saw her go inside the lab, he glanced around; no one was there yet, too early. He knocked on the door. The woman squeaked, turning and inhaled excitedly, rushing to open it.

"I was not expecting you! What are you doing here?" she asked, peering around. "Someone could see you Sher-"

"O I am sure they can honey..." taking off his glasses, smiling into a wicked grin, "It's been awhile, eh Molly Hooper? I missed Bart's and have been away too long..." he hissed as he took a few steps forward, closing the door behind him.

"Even after you left me, thought you might call."

Her joy faded rapidly into terror.

"Jim? I thought you were... someone else..." Molly back away from the door and felt her face go pale, "What are you doing here?"

"O just visiting, bored really... yessss," approaching her closer, "mmmmm my, my, my Molly darling, there is a different air about you, no?"

"Wh-why would you say that?" Molly was shaking as she tried to discretely pull her phone from her pocket. She needed Sherlock.

"Oh I dunno..." finally backing her up into a wall, "intuition possibly... and you are smiling much more now, verrrry... unusual."

"I don't know what you mean…" Molly started to panic. Her hands became sweaty and she couldn't keep a hold of her phone. Even if she somehow managed to extract it from her pocket, how could she get through an entire text without Moriarty stopping her? Suddenly, James gripped her wrist and pinned one above her head, the other on her side.

"Tut tut, I don't think you should be doing that my dear," moved his face so close their noses could have touched, "Soooo who did you want to sound the alarm off to? Hm, now let's be truthful darling."

Scrambled in her mind for anything other than the truth, Molly breathlessly replied, "J-John... I was going to text John."

"Oh?" he placed his mouth near her neck, inhaling deeply, "But Jawn does not use this type of cologne now does he..." clenching her wrists.

Molly felt tears slide down her face. This was the most frightened she'd ever been in her life. She tried to form words but all that escaped her lips was meaningless whimpering.

"You mentioned something, as if you had been expecting someone Hun. So I guess somebody in particular interest might be in town? Oh ho ho you just rearranged my initial plans entirely..." he murmured and James inhaled deeply, happy to be provided with all the clues he needed.

"So what's he like eh? I was always... curious..." James trailed off, slightly pushing himself onto her.

"No... no... he's...he's dead. I don't know what you're talking about..." Molly couldn't stand being this close to him. He was slimy and sick, yet she couldn't wriggle away. Reluctantly she kept hoping someone would barge through the door and save her, though she knew, just as Moriarty had, that she was rarely bothered throughout the day.

"Does he whisper enduring poems in your little ear? Or maybe does he massage your poor legs when you grow tired?" James rolled out his tongue and trailed it from the bottom to her neck to below her ear.

"Does Sherlock make you want to almost scream as he fucks you? Biting at your neck as you almost claw out his back? Hm?"

"Stop," Molly whimpered, "Stop it." A wall collapsed and a dam was released, bawling now. It was almost a good thing that James had a grip on her wrists because her legs seemed to have turned to jelly. If she was left to stand on her own, she probably would have fallen over by now.

James throated out a chuckle, "Uh, you are just too precious. I can see why Sherlock might want you to himself now. Wow this is brilliant! We last thought he was in Berlin, oh too grand, too grand!" He paused for a moment, "O darling so sorry," kissing her neck, "didn't mean to make you cry, I'm sorry."

With effort, Molly struggled to release herself from his hands but he was too strong. Instead, she had to settle for shuddering as his lips touched her skin. It was revolting.

"Well then, I guess you leave me with that then," James pouted, releasing her and stepped back, shoving his hands in his jeans.

"Now listen up darling because I hate repeating myself. We have to keep out little meeting between us ok?" he explained placing a finger to his lips. Molly was unable to speak, but nodded at the ground, thinking only of calling Sherlock as soon as Moriarty left.

"O and don't think I'm thick, I see your funny little head trying to figure this out. So go ahead, I dare you. Warn him if you must, only John might be... a bit disappointed when I tell him the news. He's been looking a bit extra down lately, yessss..."

Suddenly Molly gained back control of her voice. "Leave John out of this!" Her mind was in frenzy, trying to think of ways to warn Sherlock while keeping John safe and in the dark. Instead James shook his head in pity.

"Oh Ms. Molly Hooper, you are truly a riot," releasing a cackle, "You think I don't have the ability, the power to keep an eye on you two and John? Don't be silly, I faked my own death, darling, remember?"

Feeling helpless, Molly kept still, lost in the horror of what was happening. Tell Sherlock about this and John is visited by Moriarty... or don't tell Sherlock and let him believe Moriarty is dead, leaving him vulnerable... James smirked at her, taking pleasure in her plight.

"So we have an understanding then," he gave a very low bow, "then adieu. I hope you… enjoy yourself with him. I admit I am a bit jealous." James gave her a final wink and turned on his heels heading to the door.

"Byeeeee darling. Have a nice night for me will you?" he called back before closing the door behind him.


	6. Chapter 6

"Have a good day then love," pecking her on the cheek. Sherlock observed Molly give him a small nod as she walked out the door, in silence. Something happened the other day, though as much as he inquired, analyzed, and questioned, she remained shut up. This gave him great concern and for the past few days he would sit for at least a good hour or so attempting to figure out her troubles. 'Was it him?' He continued sitting in thought when he realized it was already the afternoon and he still was nowhere close to any idea what transpired. His pocket buzzed, a text.

Urgent Sherlock. Need you now, so get in the car. -MH

How urgent Mycroft, busy. -SH

An absolute. -MH

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock reluctantly put on his shoes and grabbed his coat, heading outside with a light in his mouth. Strangely a black car outside was waiting for him and after he climbed inside, it drove off quickly. Locked in his thoughts Sherlock waited for the time to pass, puffing smoke out the window, and eventually the car reached to the docks where the warehouses were. With the car stopped a man outside, with a scar underneath his eye, opened the door for him and led him inside. Soldier. Recent war. Obvious injury.

"So what does my dear brother need from me, hm?"

His escort remained silent, leading him inside one of the buildings and up a flight of stairs to the third story. From there it was a long corridor lined with many doors, and reaching halfway down the hall, the man quickly opened the door for Sherlock. He started to turn around to ask the mysterious man a question before he was roughly shoved inside with the door slamming shut behind him.

"Bloody Bastard! Open up!" Sherlock started banging on the door, except he found it locked. He looked around the room, searching for escape, and found it empty save a chair, a dresser with a telly on top, and a queen sized mattress bed. Except Sherlock's heart stopped and for a fraction of a second, not a sound in the world could be made. Certainly there was a chair in there, but it was not empty. A blanket seemed to have covered some breathing figure underneath it.

"O god, Molly no!"

Sherlock ran over and ripped it off and then found himself on the ground, crawling away.

"No, god, no...how..."

Pulling himself together, Sherlock grabbed the shoulders and shook hard, screaming, "God please! JOHN, WAKE UP JOHN! PLEASE!"

Sherlock checked him over, a few cuts had been slashed onto his chest, but they scabbed over.

He heard the voice that he knew so well calling his name. But it couldn't be. John was aware that he had been knocked out so he must still be dreaming. Or perhaps he's dead and it really is Sherlock. Somehow, the thought excited him slightly. He tried opening his eyes but all he could accomplish so far was weak fluttering.

"Fuck!" Sherlock bolted up and searched the room, for anything that might help him. 'Shit, shit...' No medicine, no water.

Mycroft what is going on! Answer me! SOS! -SH

Waiting and not knowing what to do, Sherlock sat on the bed and watched John. Another few minutes went by and still there was no reply. He gave up hope that there would be a reply.

John seemed to gain a little control of his mouth and voice, at least, enough to whisper.

"Sh-Sherlock...?"

The voice shot into his body, and perking up his head Sherlock jumped by his side.

"John... John, please say something else! I need to know what happened." Stepping behind him, he tried to untie the knot and was struggling. Standing up again Sherlock went back to the dresser and opened it. Inside he found a hand mirror, and in fury Sherlock threw it against the wall as it shattered in pieces. Filled with a sudden idea, Sherlock picked up a good sized piece of glass, and began to cut at John's bonds, his own blood starting to trickle out from the shard he was holding.

"I don't... I don't know what happened." It was taking a lot of energy to speak and John was so confused as to how Sherlock was here. When the ropes tying him to the chair were severed, John fell forward, not quite able to keep himself up yet.

"Bloody hell," Sherlock heaved him up, John was complete dead weight, but he managed to push him up on the bed, "quickly what exactly happened before you started to talk to me. John, concentrate!"

Placing his hands carefully on John's face, he forced him to look into his eyes forgetting of his bloody hand.

"Sherlock, I don't remember. I was at the flat and then suddenly I woke up here. I could have been knocked out or drugged... or something... but I don't know why or by who."

What the hell was happening? This certainly seemed like Sherlock... but it couldn't be. John closed his eyes again and shook his head, trying to clear it.

"Damn it."

Sherlock scratched the top of his head though finally feeling the pain in his hand and let go of the bloodied glass. In the fracture of the reflection he saw himself, the old Sherlock erased and gone. A different man literally stared back.

"Sorry John... had to change the look, heh... it seems we are both stuck here..." he dropped his head in his good hand. Opening his eyes, John soaked up Sherlock's appearance. Though his hair and eyes were different, this was clearly the man John knew. He started to accept that this was reality, not death or a dream. This could only mean one thing: Sherlock Holmes was alive. Keeping his face clear of all expression, John gathered the strength necessary to rise and make his way over to Sherlock. Roughly, John grabbed his uninjured arm and pulled him into a hug. He didn't give a damn that Sherlock rarely liked being touched or that this could be seen as awkward. This was his best friend and he'd missed him more than he could describe.

Gasping a bit Sherlock coughed out-

"Hey, hey, hey... it's ok..." he hugged back hard too. Then realized John was responding, "I am so sorry... John... so sorry..."

"Good. Now that that's out of the way..." He broke off the hug, "What the HELL were you playing at?" The army doctor was out of energy again and sank down into a sitting position on the bed.

"Do you even realize what that did to me?" He looked away as he said this, a little ashamed, but still furious. Sherlock sighed and cracked his neck.

"I cannot imagine John, it's not like I really had a choice or wanted to. I hated to leave you in such a state I swear," he tried to hide it but his voice cracked on the last syllable.

"Then why did you do it?" He recognized that Sherlock seemed to be legitimately sorry and upset, but John needed answers right now.

"Moriarty... it was a trade off. Guns were put against your temple, John. You, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade... I had to die or be seen dead... I could not let that happen to you, never," Sherlock looked up seriously, determined. John didn't know what he had expected, but it definitely wasn't this. He was at a loss for words. Sherlock had leapt off of a roof to save his life? After a long silence, he found his voice.

"I-I'm sorry... thank you..." He looked down, ashamed for attacking so readily.

"Understandable why you would react this way." The soldier in front of him had been shattered and stepped on. Sherlock found himself at a loss of words, his friend, his best friend. Finding John's hand, Sherlock covered it and gave a squeeze.

"Please don't be sorry, as if I could ever regret it."

Squeezing the hand back, John said "Want to be careful, Sherlock. People might talk." For the first time since Sherlock left, John felt his face break into a smile. Hearing his, he felt his heart beat out, and his head felt a bit in a spin Trying to gain focus, Sherlock returned the smile.

"Let them talk then."

John laughed, then, remembering where they were, his face fell slightly. "So...where are we? How did you end up here?"

"Warehouse, outskirts of the city. Received a text under the premise of my brother but it turned out to be false and thus I became entrapped here with you," Sherlock sighed and fell back on the bed rubbing his hands in his face, "So stupid. Thick!"

"How do we get out then? Why are we here?" John had a lot of other questions, but at the moment, this seemed most relevant.

"Honestly I wish I knew the answers, I have nothing to offer." Unsure what else to say or how else to comfort, Sherlock started to ask the other questions that pressed on his mind.

"So after Bart's... how did you pass the time?"

"I just tried to cope. I got some jobs in various clinics, you know. Didn't stay anywhere for long. I moved back into my old flat for a bit... I just couldn't handle being there...alone," he cleared his throat, "But what about you? What have you been up to? How long have you been back in London?"

'Alone...?'

"No one...what about Jeannette or... I dunno someone? Anyone? What happened? You always seem to have had some girl with you at some point whenever I was around."

"No one seemed to want to hang around me, not after...what happened." He didn't want to tell Sherlock how dark his life had gotten, how pessimistic and unreachable he became. In the three years he'd gone out with a few girls, yet kept pushing them away and eventually had stopped trying all together.

"But you've side stepped my question, Sherlock. How long have you been back?"

"Must be... I would say a week maybe. Went to Switzerland chasing after stragglers of the Moriarty brigade which under my new assumptions, are the people responsible for this now."

He could tell he was lying, John's eyes, though he thought impossible, were aged more, more so than they did from the war.

"And I think you are the one avoiding my questions. Clearly your health is not at its peak and yes, you were drugged or beaten to be dragged here, though the paler skin, loss of weight, and other characteristics tell me otherwise," Sherlock turned on his side and slightly curled up.

"What do you mean?" John asked a bit defensively. He could hardly ever tell what Sherlock saw or what he was deducing.

"Then why," sitting up and crawling to him, "are these here?" Sherlock gripped John's wrist and turned it over forcefully, looking up and down his forearm. Too many scars and holes. For some reason it caused him anger, though unsure why.

"It's nothing," John answered, pulling his arm back and knowing there was no way Sherlock would believe the lie.

"No, John, it's not nothing," Sherlock gave paused and lowered his tone, "did I hurt you that much? I saved you in order for you to become hurt? Shit..." he dropped his head, punishing himself.

'You should have been there...'

'Why didn't you protect him...'

'Shut up...'

'Why weren't you there for him Sherlock?'

'SHUT UP!'

"I'm sorry, Sherlock, but you are my flat mate, my colleague and my best friend. How did you expect me to react?"

When he picked up his head, a tear fell away, and Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's shoulders.

"This was never meant to happen, I was supposed to save you... save you..." he started to lose his nerve.

"Hey, we're both still alive, aren't we?" John smiled slightly, trying to cheer Sherlock up, even if it was just a bit. Looking for distraction, he searched for a topic to discuss other than the emotional ones, as it seemed to be straining for Sherlock.

"So, you've been back for a week? Where have you been staying?"

Sherlock tensed up and his hairs stood on end. Pulling away from him, Sherlock scratched the back of his neck and sighed.

"Well been secretly helping Lestrade solve a few cases and talked to my brother where my next leads might possibly take me. Thought the trail had become cold. Until now that is," eyes sweeping the room again. For the first time in his memory, John could tell that Sherlock was lying. However, that wasn't a top priority at the moment.

"Right. So, you got a text from someone pretending to be Mycroft? Did it come from his phone number?"

"Looked like it, must have been hacked..." Sherlock pulled out his phone, scrolling through, "Reasonably it appears correct, no bugs or viruses detected... shit, no signal either..."

"What can we do now then? What's the point of rounding us up here?"

"What a fabulous question!" the telly suddenly snapping on, "Allo kids! Having some fun times? Catching up on history? Ooooh that's rich that is there...oh stop mumbling you."

John's eyes snapped up to the screen and he felt his face go pale, though he was careful not to let any emotion show. He was revolted, Sherlock clenched his fists hard enough that surely his finger nails would leave some marks or pierce his skin. Gritting his teeth, Sherlock breathed out.

"Moriarty. Obviously."

James's smile widened like a boy at Christmas, "Hi Jawn, hey Sherly! All doing ok? Glad I was able to set up this reunion. I will say I am a bit proud of myself," he hummed and bobbed his head back and forth, still taking up the whole screen.

"Oh yes, of course we're doing wonderful," John answered, angrily and sarcastically, "Now, do you want to tell us why we're here?"

"Hm, mhm, hmmm, bored. I missed seeing the pair of you all snuggly together. I need some entertainment, isn't that right?" tilting his head to someone behind him. "O don't look so pouty, you will get a turn in the fun."

"And how exactly is this entertaining for you? What's the point in keeping us locked up?" John began getting seriously concerned now. He could see no feasible way for him and Sherlock to get out of this.

James chuckled, "O Johnny boy, never so much have you two entertained me... or more so three."

Sherlock practically snarled and he bolted off the bed, "Moriarty I swear..."

"Oooooo I made Sherly mad awww!" James pouted.

"Three?" John was significantly confused.

"O so he hasn't told you yet?"

"Stop it-"

"How cruel leaving his-"

"Don't!"

"-best friend out of the loop. Well let me introduce you to our special guest today," sweeping his arm aside in wild grin, James moved away from the camera. For Sherlock, all will was lost and he fell on his knees. To make matters worse the stress was beginning to build in his shoulder again, so he held it tenderly hoping to stave the pain away.

"No... please..."

"Oh, God..."

Though the cheeks were tear-stained, the mouth was taped and the limbs were bound, John recognized that their 'special guest' was unmistakably Molly Hooper. His knees gave out and he sank onto the bed. Moriarty had Molly. Sweet, innocent Molly. Through his elevated fear, however, John was still slightly confused. What was Moriarty talking about that Sherlock hadn't told him... and what did this have to do with Molly?

"Clearly the two of you in this relationship have not communicated very well," James began instructionally, "as an exercise, Johnny, please explain to the class the real reason why you could not keep anyone around when Sherly left," he moved over to Molly and leaned an elbow on her. At his touch, tears streamed even faster down Molly's face.

"What the hell does this have to do with you?" John retorted, not planning on revealing anything for Moriarty's pleasure.

"It has everything to do with everything. Tut, tut, Johnny, listen to teacher..." James replied out and flipping out a blade.

"Don't want to ruin it for the rest of the class huh?" he ran the flat edge of the blade down Molly's face. Watching in disgust, Sherlock attempted to stand again but a fire was raging in his scar.

"Let- her- go."

Molly's eyes widened in terror as she felt the knife graze her skin. With her mouth taped she couldn't scream, so she had to sit there in horrifying silence and watch as John leapt from his seat, yelling obscenities through the screen. Once finished with his meaningless and offensive rant, he sat himself back on the bed and put his head in his hands. It was as if someone had begun tearing his heart out, bit by bit. Fixated on Molly's eyes Sherlock remained stuck.

"Whew, Johnny has a mouth on him doesn't he darling? Now come, come, don't be shy John we are all waiting. Wasn't there something you have been wanting to say to Sherlock for some time now? The lack of girlfriends, drugs, alcohol, and well… Please we only have so little patience," James said, crouching behind Molly as he rested the knife on her chest and gave a small peck to her neck.

John was immovable. He didn't want to spill his guts in front of Moriarty, but what choice did he have? Not that he thought they'd magically be set free if he did what Moriarty wanted, but it was something. Gritting his teeth, he answered. "He knows how I feel about him..." He knew what Moriarty was about to imply and decided that, if it would save Molly, he may have to pretend to have romantic feelings for Sherlock. No matter what anyone else said, however, John loved him as a best friend and a brother, nothing more, though people rarely believed him.

The pain was practically weighing him down, Sherlock would have gladly ripped off this arm for another, and from the pain he just about heard what transpired.

"Y-yes... John's my best friend..." desperately he tried to stand again and the effort made him too dizzy falling over semi conscious.

"Awwww, how adorable you two are," James chuckled, running the blunt tip of the knife across Molly's throat.

"Yes, we're very adorable and all," John yelled, angrily and sarcastically, "Will you let Molly go now?"

"John..." Sherlock moaned, desperate to gain focus again but the darkness began to creep in the corners of his eyes.

"Ohhhh, still hurting eh Sherlock? O I remember that day, given I wasn't there at the moment but a friend of mine had the camera and showed it to me laters!" James cackled.

At Sherlock's call, John turned and grabbed his other arm to steady him.

"You bastard! What did you do to him?" John didn't think he had it in him to panic any more than he already was, but seeing Sherlock in such pain had done it. But he was at a complete loss as to what he should do.

From her seat on the chair, Molly tried once again to call out to Sherlock. She wanted nothing more than to break free of her bonds and hold him until the pain subsided.

"O nothing much, just left him a gift when he stumbled upon one of my play houses, see for yourself if you must..."

John looked at Sherlock, hating himself for actually being curious. But he didn't plan on ripping the shirt off to have a look, particularly not with Moriarty around.

"Sherlock, are you alright?" he asked, hoping he was soft enough that Moriarty wouldn't overhear compassion.

The whole room was spinning and tilted violently, it throbbed, the scar protesting and fighting against him. James looked on with glee and snapped his fingers.

"Sebastian dear, please move Ms. Hooper to the other room and then when done go fetch John."

He gave a gruff nod and holding the back of the chair started to pull her off-screen. 'No, no, no!' Molly thought frantically. As long as she could see Sherlock, she felt safe. However, as hard as she squirmed, she couldn't break away and had to, instead, allow Moriarty's goon, Moran, drag her off.

"Would you just let her go, please?" John shouted as he watched this happen. Then he realized what the end of Moriarty's sentence had been. 'Shit...' Moran was coming for him. He couldn't leave Sherlock alone, not in his current state, but what could he do? Fight? No, that would more than likely result in someone's death.

"Sherlock, are you going to be alright?" he asked, even though he hadn't received any response last time he asked.

The words were of something off in the distance and far away, but Sherlock was able to open one eye and look at him. He tried to say something though he was too weak. The moment was ruined when Moran opened the door, gun in hand, nodding his head to the door.

"Go on Johnny, we will take care of him no worries," James said before disappearing.

"No!" John wasn't just going to take orders and walk out, but Moran was too strong and John, still feeble from earlier. Moran had no problem dragging him from the room. Pushing him down the hallway, he stopped in front of another door and knocked.

"Enter please!"

Moran kept the gun on John as he turned the knob and slowly entered.

"Don't be shy, come right in honey." James was lying in bed, his arm slung around Molly has he twirled the knife in his free hand. Resisting the urge to run at Moriarty and brutally injure him, John turned his attention to Molly.

"Are you alright, Molly?"

She gave the smallest of nods in return. It was the simplest answer. No, she wasn't alright, emotionally, mentally or physically, but she had no lasting wounds that might need immediate care, so 'yes' worked for her.

"O sorry darling let me get that for you," slipping the knife underneath the rope, he sliced off her gag and turned back to John, "I made sure she had the best of treatment, on the house."

With her mouth free, Molly started to sob and she really tried not to, but there was no stopping it. At the sound of her anguish, John took a step forward but was prevented from continuing when Moran's hand shot out and grabbed his shoulder.

"O relax Sebby, go make sure Sherlock is comfortable too will you?"

Sebastian relaxed his grip and finally walked out, locking them inside. John took another cautious step forward.

"Okay, you've had your fun now. What will it take for you to let us go?"

"O but it's not me that is having the fun," James slipped off the bed and flicked the telly on, this time Sherlock was on the other side, Moran was finishing up on the ropes around his wrists and his ankles already bound. Reaching into his pocket his pocket, he took something out with a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Strolling past John, he gave a wink and took a seat in the corner. Now that Moriarty was away from Molly, John took the opportunity to sink down next to her and wrap one arm around her shoulder. She let her head fall on his chest and cried some more. John turned his attention back to Moriarty.

"What is going to happen to him?" he asked with fury in his voice.

"Glad you asked..." James's wolfish smile from ear to ear, "here." Tossing it, the condom fell at their feet.


	7. Chapter 7

"I'm sorry?" John asked, completely thrown for a loop.

"I forgot you were only a 'best friend'," finger quoting, "to Sherly there. And hey it's been awhile since you had a girlfriend, so here take her. I don't care for her type anyway," James's face twisted in disgust. John held Molly tighter, at Moriarty's words, she tensed up, paralyzed with fear.

"We're not playing your little game, Moriarty," Then, into Molly's ear he whispered, "Don't worry, I'll get us out of here. I promise, I'll find a way."

"No?" James whipped out his phone and sent a text quickly and looked over to the telly screen. Moran's pocket buzzed as he finished the last knot and had placed Sherlock in the seat previously taken by John. He reached over and literally ripped Sherlock's off and tossed away the bandage. By now Sherlock picked up his head and his eyes were uncontrolled, rolling about. Through the screen, John saw what plagued Sherlock's skin and inhaled sharply. It looked painful and hideous.

"Oh God..."

James rolled his eyes and text Moran again. "Sorry, between this room and the other is no audio, only the prettty pictures."

Observing, James saw Moran check his cell and carefully putting it back in his pocket, he pulled a fist back and punched Sherlock in the face, the whole chair and body crashing over.

"No!" John roared, shooting into a standing position as Molly screamed, "Sherlock!"

John leapt at Moriarty, grabbing him by his suit jacket collar. "Stop this now, you... insane psychopath."

"I thought sex was supposed to be relaxing, enjoyable like. Jeez I was only doing you a favor you know... unless," he snaked his arms around the waist, "You want to try me?" he hissed in his ear. John backed away from the lunatic in disgust.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he flicked his eyes back to the telly for a quick moment, just to ensure that Sherlock was still alright.

'Shit' that blow certainly hurt more than the scar for a moment... Moran roughly pulled him up and set the chair right, placing him in front of the telly. It took much strenuous effort but he was able to focus on the screen.

"Molly... John... Hello? Please...what's going on?"

James giggled and then turned back to John, "Well if you don't want me, guess there's the last option." shrugging his shoulders.

"I think not." John said defiantly, turning his gaze onto Molly to ensure that she was also okay. Since Sherlock had taken the punch from Moran, she had curled up on the edge of the bed, at a loss for words again. 'At least she's alive,' John thought to himself. That would have to be good enough for now.

"Think before you speak John..." James replied quietly, and gave a nod to Moran. Acknowledging him, Moran took out his lighter and pocket knife, and with the flame resting underneath it, slowly starting to glow.

"Kill two birds with one stone I figured." James said matter of fact, flashing them a friendly smile.

"And what exactly is he going to do with that?" John asked, and although he tried to hide his terror, panic echoed through every word.

"Burn the heart out of him of course," James began to twirl with glee, clapping his hands. Now yellow, Moran delicately held it near Sherlock's skin, and Sherlock saw it causing his body to pump adrenaline, becoming conscious. Panicking, he squirmed though of course nothing would work.

"You can't be serious..." John knew very well, however, that Moriarty rarely joked about this sort of thing. Schemes, plans, escape routes and fear were all running through his mind but he couldn't mentally produce anything helpful. Molly had jumped to her feet and crossed to the telly, tears falling silently now, and placed her hand on the screen, right over Sherlock as though she could touch him and comfort him from here.

Sherlock stopped struggling when Molly took up the screen and for a moment he was able to ignore where and what was happening, glad to know she was there. Then his face exploded in silent anguish and screams when the blade seared his skin. James looked on with interest and continued to twirl his own knife.

"Ouch."

"No!" Molly screamed louder than she'd ever done before and ran for the door, pulling and turned the doorknob, but it was no use. As Molly was pounding on the door and crying hysterically, John wheeled around to Moriarty. It took everything he had not to murder this man with his bare hands. Instead, he pushed him up against the wall and held him there by his throat, making sure to keep the knife aimed away from himself.

"Call this off. Leave him the hell alone."

"Mmmmmmmm, I thought you didn't want me John," James purred, "But I don't want to, way too much fun... in fact..." he kicked John in the stomach, knocking him to the floor, James knelt down and grabbed a fist full of hair.

"I think I might join them..." James stood up and simply looked at Molly, who shrank away, unlocked the door, and let himself out.

"John? Are you alright?" Molly asked through her continued tears. She made her way over to him as he lay groaning on the ground.

"Yeah, I think so," he answered after a couple of seconds, pushing himself up into a sitting position.

"Listen, Molly, we have to find Sherlock and get the hell out of here."

"How?" she asked, a little eagerly after assuming he'd been formulating a plan the whole time.

"Um...I dunno yet..." His mind was still reeling, but he could think of no way out of this. His eyes locked onto the telly and he watched as Moriarty entered the room with Sherlock and Moran. Peering at them, James gave a wave and said something to Sherlock, caressing his face. In response Sherlock tried to bite him, but James simply slapped him back clearly angry. Moran said something else and James began to beam, slowly turning to John and Molly he gave them a wink.

"What did he say? John? What's happening in there?" Her voice was getting high pitched again.

"I don't know," John answered a little more harshly than he meant to, but the fear in her voice was infecting him, and he was trying to think. There had to be a way out. John stood up and began pacing the room as Molly returned to the bed and sat, burying her head in her hands.

Using his own blade, James began to carve over Sherlock's torso. First, "John", then cutting across the name as if erasing it out, cut underneath it "Molly", then that too was crossed out. Finally he wrote underneath it, "Jim". Sherlock's muscles were straining and stretching against the ropes, causing his skin to become raw as he apparently called out, his silent screams echoing.

Molly had bolted to the door again, helplessly trying to open it and screaming as though she was the one being cut open. She couldn't bear to look at the screen, knowing that she'd be witnessing the torture of the man she loved. John, on the other hand, had made his way to the telly, yelling at the top of his lungs though he knew this would do nothing to stop Moriarty. He couldn't even begin to imagine the pain Sherlock was going through but he had to stop it and wished he'd taken that moment just minutes ago and wrung Moriarty's neck.

James was laughing and turned to Moran who looked on with a look of disapproval, which made James lose his patience. He started to yell something at him, Moran shaking his head, replying calmly. After the two stared at each other awhile, James then held the tip of his knife against Sherlock's throat, tilting his head in curiosity looking to Moran. In response Moran shook his head again and the two then remained still, eyes locked.

"Molly, they've stopped." She was still hysterically sobbing and didn't hear him so John ran to her and turned her around.

"Molly! Listen to me, something's happening... or about to happen. They've stopped hurting him for a minute, come here." He helped her walk over to the screen. Once there, John didn't remove his arm for fear that she may fall over. There was so much blood on Sherlock... so much. It took everything Molly had not to back away and curl up in the corner. Together, she and John peered into the screen, terrified by what may or may not be coming.

Eyes brows furrowed and the corner of James's mouth twitched as Moran remained still, arms at his side. Sherlock was panting as the blood slowly pooled down him, but he too watched and waited. He knew there was an exchange of words except his head was so clouded he had not comprehended it. Suddenly James threw the knife forward at Moran, who tried to dodge it, though it embedded into his left arm as he tackled James. On the floor the two scuffled and when James was on his back, he attempted to pull out the knife, but Moran gripped his fist and squeezed hard. James screamed and Sherlock winced when he heard the bones crack, except it gave Moran the opportunity to turn him over and give a blow to the back of his head.

James's body wretched for a moment and slowly stopped moving. Swaying slightly, Moran stood up and carefully made his way to the door and almost fell out into the hallway. Sinking to his knees he had enough energy to unlock the door, and opened it with the push of his arm. Gritting his teeth, he drew out the blade and with shaky arms offered it to John.

"Go to him," Moran finally spoke, quietly, but with authority. John took the knife from Moran and thanked him, hurriedly and awkwardly, before running out of the room with Molly in tow. She had suddenly regained all of her energy knowing that she was moments away from Sherlock. The army doctor led the way to the room that he'd been kept in earlier. When they arrived, they found Sherlock nearing unconsciousness. Molly rushed to him.

"Sherlock! Stay with me. Can you hear me?" she asked frantically as John used the knife to start cutting away the bonds holding Sherlock in place.

"...m-...m-...mo-..." his head rolled a bit as he faintly heard voices echo and he slightly perked up his head, a figure before him, blurry. Meanwhile Moran staggered back down the hallway, falling in the doorway of the other room.

"John, he's barely conscious!" Molly was shaking uncontrollably now. Given the amount of blood that Sherlock had lost, he could be in very serious trouble. John ignored Molly's words and focused on the one last bit of rope around Sherlock's wrist. Finally, he cut it loose.

"Help me lift him," he instructed Molly, and the two of them began carrying Sherlock out of the room. As they passed Moriarty's unconscious body, John made a motion towards it, still carrying the knife. Molly extended the arm that wasn't holding Sherlock and caught John's hand.

"Not today, please," she implored. After everything that had happened, she didn't think she could handle witnessing a murder, even if it was James Moriarty's.

"What do we do about him?" Molly asked, gesturing towards the injured figure in the doorway.

"Don't worry about me... tie that bastard up, I don't trust him even unconscious," Moran replied, a bit of blood running over his hand that covered the wound.

"Molly... John...," Sherlock mumbled.

"I'm here," she whispered, she set him and herself down on the bed as John picked Moriarty up, roughly tying him to the chair. He didn't care how tight or how painful the rope was. The only reason he wasn't killing Moriarty right then and there was Molly's request. When he'd finished, John helped Sebastian to his feet, then over to the edge of the bed so he could sit.

"Listen... I... I want to thank you. You risked a lot to help us out of here and we owe you our lives." John never thought he'd be saying this to Moriarty's right hand man, but it was true. Moran had double crossed the most dangerous criminal mastermind alive and in doing so, saved John, Molly and Sherlock. He supposed that was one problem of Moriarty's: there would never be anyone quite as evil and in genius as he was, thus any ally of his would always have a breaking point.

They'd be pushed just a bit too far, like Sebastian today. Deciding on the spot that they probably wouldn't be needing weapons, John held the handle of the knife out to Moran.

"Give him hell from us."

"Tempting but I think the Prime Minister and headquarters would want him to be kept alive a little bit long... ah fuck," Sebastian shuddered at his arm, "Blasted thing."

"...what...what hap-happened..." Sherlock felt a touch and because of that he realized how unusually cold he was and his eyes fluttered a little.

"Don't worry, we'll explain later. Just stay awake and rest your voice for now," Molly spoke to John now, who had turned around at the sound of Sherlock's voice, "John, we have to go. Now." She could feel that Sherlock was as cold as ice and knew they were running out of time.

"Right. Okay, let's go." He looked around the room and noticed Sherlock's coat and shirt on the floor. After picking them up, he returned to his side and heaved him up with Molly's help. They made their way to the door, but before exiting, John turned to Moran one more time. "

"If you're not going to kill him, at least give him some kind of hell." And he left without another word. Moran gave a nod and watched them leave.


	8. Chapter 8

Beeping...hums...

'Fuck my head...'

Moving was a bother so he stayed still, then what seemed like a few minutes more Sherlock slowly began to open his eyes and tried to focus.

"Where am I?" Everything, almost every fiber was sore.

"Oh my God! John, he's awake," Molly sighed with joy, reaching her left hand out to shake John into consciousness and her right one up to Sherlock's face where she stroked his cheek. "How are you feeling?"

"Wha..." Sherlock managed to turn his head to Molly, and seeing her gave him a bit of energy, "Molly...John..." his mouth twitched in an attempted grin.

"Hi..."

"Hi," She returned his smile much more brightly. Molly couldn't even begin to describe the relief flooding through her at the sound of his voice. He'd been unconscious for days and had several blood transfusions to make up for what Moriarty had done. It turned out he'd cut much deeper than any of them had thought and it was a borderline miracle that Sherlock was alive.

John stood and crossed to the other side of the bed, taking Sherlock's hand in his. Attempting to keep his face clear of all the emotions running around inside him, he asked.

"Do you feel alright?"

"O grand really, I love having a needle shoved up my arm and my arse in bed for... several days I estimate," Sherlock replied sarcastically. John smiled in spite of himself because Sherlock may be acting like a smart ass, but he was an alive smart ass.

"How much do you remember about...about what happened?"

"Last was Moran going after Moriarty, then I heard Molly and that was all," Sherlock replied, giving a big grin, watching her lessened the pain a little. He raised his hand and slightly squeezed hers, releasing a sigh. Wanting to remind Sherlock and Molly of his presence, John spoke again.

"Moran got pretty badly wounded. He knocked Moriarty out then unlocked the door for Molly and I. We left him with Moriarty tied up on a chair, but we haven't heard yet what happened after that. We're lucky your phone was still in your coat pocket, they'd taken ours from us when they brought us in. We called Mycroft once we got outside and he picked us up. You were admitted into Bart's and with Mycroft's connections, and a few of Lestrade's, your return to life hasn't made it to the media or even past the medical staff at all."

"Wait... O yes, suppose to be dead... again," Sherlock managed to chuckle, "Hm, Moran... strange, he was the one that gave me this," pointing to the old scar. "Then suddenly he helps, interesting."

"I think Moriarty pushed him too far this time. Moran isn't as sick and twisted as him."

"So what happens now?" asked Molly. "Considering that you're supposed to still be dead to the public, we've got special permission to release you from the hospital whenever you'd like. John and I can care for you at home." At the last word, Molly's heart beat faster. Which home was his home? When it started, he was only staying with her because John couldn't know he was alive. Now that John did, would Sherlock be resuming his life at 221B?

"Guess I should thank Mycroft with a cake or something," sighing, "Wait, Molly! What happened to you? And John! Why aren't the two of you in a hospital bed?"

"Oh we were," John replied, "But there was no lasting damage done to either of us. I wasn't even properly admitted and Molly was released the day after the 'ordeal', for lack of a better word."

"We've both been sort of... living here..." Molly trailed off, indicating two large suitcases in the corner of the room. "Mycroft's name got us a lot of leeway, and we've been allowed to stay 24/7."

"All this time?" Sherlock bit his lip and closed his eyes, "...so sorry. The both of you... damn it ..." his hand clenching into the sheets, "I... this was never suppose to happen."

"Don't apologize. None of this was your fault. It was actually... mine," Molly's eyes welled up and she looked down, letting go of Sherlock's hand and feeling completely ashamed.

"How? Impossible, no, no, no, love." Sherlock sat up, but secretly regretted it when he felt his sides split open, "Truly impossible..." he managed softly, holding her face.

"I should have warned you!" God, why did she have to cry again? "About a week ago, Moriarty came to see me when I was at work..." she began, hating herself for being so cowardly, "When he arrived, he was in a disguise and I thought it was you, Sherlock! So, I got excited... he guessed who I thought he was... and that's why he knew you were here!" She laid her head down on the bed and sobbed.

"He told me not to tell you...he threatened me and John... and you... I don't know why I listened to him! Sherlock, I'm so sorry... it's all my fault..." This had been building up inside her ever since that day. It was a slight relief to get it out, but the crippling shame she felt wasn't worth it.

Sherlock felt his insides crumple and felt far worse.

"It explains everything... so stupid. Molly please," stroking her hair, "Did he do anything to you? He must have had to, to get you shut up like that?"

"Nothing... painful or anything... I'm sure I was just overreacting... he pinned me up against the wall and kissed my neck... licked me too," Molly shuddered and squirmed at the memory, almost feeling his lips on her once again, "He just scared me so much...but that shouldn't have stopped me from telling you. I'm so, so, sorry that I did this to you." She knew that after all he'd been through, he shouldn't forgive her, but she was hoping against hope that he might.

Sherlock bolted up, ripped the needle out of his arm, and jumped out of the bed. In the corner, on a chair was where his faithful coat lay, he threw it on and headed for the door.

"I. Will. Fucking. Tear. Him. Apart." His chest heaved as he seethed, flames could have been seeping from his mouth. Both Molly and John leaped to their feet and dragged him back to the bed.

"Sherlock, calm down" John said, preparing to re-inject the needle after Molly removed his coat. Laying it back over the chair on which it had sat, Molly just kept repeating in a small whisper, "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry." She couldn't look at Sherlock without feeling guilty.

He growled in the sheet, "Bastard..." he normally would have been able to push them away, but was too weak, so unhappily he allowed them to manhandle them. After giving himself a moment, Sherlock sat up and pulled Molly to him, "Please. Stop. He would have done it all anyway, whether he found you or not. Shhh, hush love."

Molly felt his arms around her and the whole room spun. For awhile, she thought she'd never feel him hold her again. But it was over too soon. She pulled away remembering that he was in severe pain and probably just wasn't mentioning it for her sake. As their embrace broke apart, John felt that he could step back in from the corner to which he had retreated after inserting the needle into Sherlock's arm. Molly pulled herself together and wiped off her tears as John asked,

"How long do you want to stay in the hospital, Sherlock?"

"Not at all, I want to leave now," Sherlock's eyes glanced to John and he came up with a thought.

"Molly... if it alright with you... do you mind if I go home with John, please. I owe him a lot..." Sherlock smiled at him, sadly.

"Yes, right...'course I don't mind," she muttered. She had been expecting this, but she wasn't prepared for the sinking feeling she felt in the pit of her stomach. Molly wanted nothing less than to return to her lonely, solitary lifestyle. But of course, John didn't deserve that sadness either.

John, on the other hand, felt his heart lift. In their hospital visit Molly had told him of their relationship and about Sherlock staying with her since he got back, and they'd endured a brief, silent moment of awkwardness. They both wanted so desperately for Sherlock to come home with them but understood entirely why he wouldn't. They'd decided to let Sherlock choose when he woke up and hadn't approached the subject since. He gripped Sherlock's uninjured shoulder.

"Thank you."

"Thank Molly for being a good sport," Sherlock rolled his head back to her, "you can be so kind when I need it most."

She smiled a very fake smile. At least she was starting to make things up to John. Within the past couple of days, the two of them had grown much closer and she now considered him a good friend. He also thought of her as a friend so, seeing how upset she was, he crossed over to her and gave her a hug.

"Thank you, Molly."

"It's no problem. I assumed this would happen," She didn't want the attention on her anymore so she turned it to Sherlock, "Shall we pack up then?"

"Mhm, do I need to call my brother." Sherlock rolled his eyes but then laughed a little. Unspoken he thought over the situation in his mind, he had a feeling this might make Molly uncomfortable, yet at the same time he really missed John. And the reunion they experienced was one he did not want to remember.

"I suppose you might want to let him know you're alive," Molly told him and his small laugh had lightened her sadness enough to let a real smile emerge.

"Come on," she said to John, "Let's get all this stuff together." They began busying themselves with their bags and Sherlock's belongings.

Alive and thanks for everything. How's the diet? -SH

Really Sherlock? Honestly... -MH

Sherlock smirked to himself and observantly watched John and Molly, happy the two seemed to be good friends. All in all, the trio really had a harrowing experience.

Go home and don't do anything stupid you clot. -MH

Yes, yes dear Big Brother...-SH

"And what is so funny?" Molly asked, noticing Sherlock's devious smile as she stuffed some of Sherlock's shirts into a duffle bag.

"Nothing love. Come on, let's hurry, I miss my skull," Sherlock replied, cheerfully and started to change, back turned to them. Sherlock's elation was infectious and soon John and Molly were just as chipper. John smiled. He'd never thought he'd become such friends with Molly Hooper, but he was thrilled that he had. The three of them were like a tiny, mismatched family and he had never felt more at home. Almost a bit giddy, Sherlock felt slightly bouncy in the taxi ride back to 221B Baker Street and before he went upstairs he decided to stop by into Speedy's.

"Three coffees please and maybe a pastry, you want anything, love? John?"

"Yes sir, coming right u-", Mrs. Hudson froze and dropped the cup she was holding, shattering on the floor. Tears began forming in Molly's eyes as she watched Mrs. Hudson stare in disbelief at the son-like man she thought she'd lost.

"She-Sher-" Mrs. Hudson rounded the counter, grabbing the rolling pin at the same time and started after Sherlock, "You have any idea what that stupid oaf's been through! John was extremely unwell!" she shrilled, attacking Sherlock and beating at him as he tried to swat her away.

"Mrs. Hudson-" Thwap, "Ow! Please now-" clunk, "let's be-" thunk, "re- reasonable."

John started chuckling and pulled Mrs. Hudson off Sherlock.

"It's alright, I promise! Mrs. Hudson, stop, it's okay."

When John lifted Mrs. Hudson in the air, she kicked in flailed. "Let me at the bastard! He's aged me an entire decade! Put me down!" After another few minutes of this she eventually quieted down and was held by Sherlock when she sobbed into his coat for awhile as he apologized, repeatedly. John and Molly stepped back to let the other two have their reunion.

"No one's told Lestrade yet that Sherlock woke up and is okay," Molly whispered so as to not disturb the moment.

"You're right. Should we text him or let Sherlock tell him?"

Molly thought for a moment. "We'll let him decide once they're done." Her eyes made their way back to the hugging duo. She loved seeing him so caring.

Sherlock flagged them down, "Gentlemen, Ladies, why don't we go upstairs and have another Christmas party," Sherlock winked to Molly, "I'll be nicer this time. John, go get milk, jam, and I assume you have most of the drinks upstairs. Mrs. Hudson some nibbles please. Oh and John, on your way out please get Lest- Greg... Greg might as well join in too. But do not tell Mycroft!" Sherlock added on as he began to head out the door bag slung over his shoulder.

Molly smiled, following Sherlock upstairs as John headed out the door. He pulled out his phone and dialed Lestrade as he simultaneously hailed a cab. Upstairs, Molly entered the kitchen and started rounding up anything alcoholic as well as any party friendly snacks. Entering the door, Sherlock practically danced around, first moving to the fire place, he clutched his old friend, "I missed you so much" he mused as he kissed the skull. Then to the couch, checking his friend Smiley, bullet holes still very present.

Finally he moved to his old room and felt a little sad when he looked in. Since the day he left it, it seemed

Mrs. Hudson nor John had touched or moved a single thing, though maybe dusted every once in awhile because he noticed streaks of it in some places but not others. Throwing his bag next to the bed, he let himself fall on the mattress, taking it all in, eagle spread.

His girlfriend had watched him make his way down to his room and, after a moment, followed his footsteps. She stopped in the doorway, observing him and knowing how odd it must feel.

"Hi there," Sherlock said when he heard her come into the room. The detective pushed himself up and strode over to Molly, beaming and smirking. Without thinking much, he slid his right hand on her waist and held her hand up with his left. Slowly Sherlock started to guide her around the room, allowing his footwork to move them about gracefully. Molly let him lead her and laid her head on his chest.

"I thought I'd really lost you this time," she whispered. She didn't mean to let it slip out, but she'd been thinking it for days. Having him hold her like this was a luxury she never thought she'd have again.

"I thought I was going to lose you too," he paused in the middle of his rhythm, "you held up well for yourself..." holding her tighter, he rested his hand on her head.

"Trust me, you won't be getting rid of me that easy," she teased, glad for a reason to smile again. They stood there, wrapped around each other, for so long that Molly lost track of time. As much as she didn't want to, she asked-

"Should we get things set up? John and Lestrade will be back soon... and I'm sure Mrs. Hudson will be up at any moment." Though she suggested it, she still didn't break away from him.

"Just a little longer..." Sherlock murmured when he picked up her chin and bent over, kissing her lovingly. Any aches or pains he would have felt melted away. The last time he was able to be with her was days ago, so enjoyed every passing second. She certainly had no complaints. If it was up to her, they'd stay like this forever. She kissed him back and realized how much she had missed it. Forgetting everything else, he was against the wall with her, enraptured when he felt Molly cling to him, it gave him intense butterflies, so to counter it Sherlock kissed her feverishly and with longing. It was like the past week of horror had never happened. Molly held on to him even more tightly, never wanting to let go and then she heard a noise from the living room.

"Sherlock? Molly, dear?"

They broke apart and she sighed. "Coming, Mrs. Hudson," she called out. "Come on, we'd better go." She held her hand out to Sherlock. Sherlock cleared his throat and murmured an "Excuse me," before swiftly heading to the bathroom before anyone could find them, while she let her hand fall and headed back to the living room alone.

"Let's get some of this set up, shall we?" she began getting small plates to fill with snacks.

"O hello deary, got some things cookin' in the oven down stairs. Thanks for the help dear."

"Of course," Molly said quietly, "I'm so sorry we sprang this on you..." She couldn't imagine how it would have felt, attending Sherlock's funeral, thinking and accepting that he was really dead, then having him show up on her doorstep. Mrs. Hudson must have been filled with emotions but had been putting on a facade of calm for know.

Without skipping a beat Mrs. Hudson began to set up the food and drink. "O no worries, he will get his beating later. Those two I swear they get in the worst of troubles," shaking her head, "it down right scares me... I think it always will... Stupid boys..." ending on a motherly note.

After closing the door behind him, Sherlock slid onto the tiled floor, heaving out a heavy sigh and adjusted his trousers. Another minute went by when he gained the strength to stand again and at the sink he splashed some water on him, not just to cool himself, but steer himself back to reality since Molly swept him somewhere else.

Back in the sitting room, Molly smiled and rested her hand on Mrs. Hudson's. "They are so lucky to have you," Molly told her, sincerely and not wanting to say more on the subject, so she left it at that.

Finally Sherlock left his sanctuary and found the two outside, "Hey Molly, Lestrade here yet?"

"Not quite," passing the window to look outside, "They should be back soon I imagine... oh! Maybe? Yes! John and Lestrade are here!"

Together, the two men got the groceries John had bought, walked up the stairs, and into the flat.

"This looks like quite the gathering," Lestrade said, grinning. He crossed over to Sherlock and held out his hand for a shake. "Good to see you feeling better."

"Greg," Sherlock couldn't help but give him a brotherly hug, "Lost your tan have you? No holidays?"

"Well, I've been a bit more busy lately. Had to solve some cases without a consulting detective... Never trying that again."

"Anderson isn't it? Pity he is still there without having accidently killed someone or something. So ladies and gentlemen," grinning lovingly to Molly, "let's get started."


	9. Chapter 9

The hours of the evening went by quickly, they all having too much fun in their little reunion. Molly found herself gravitating towards Sherlock throughout the party. She couldn't help it. He'd been hardly unconscious this morning but now here he was, alive and well. It was almost as though Molly was afraid that it was all a dream, that someone might wake her up, so she should soak up every last minute of his presence while she had the chance.

Mrs. Hudson was giggling stupidly at something Lestrade said, "So, so, so, he said- he said he escaped the bear with an egg whisk?"

"That's what he told us!" he answered, laughing loudly. When John had stopped by his flat to invite him over, Lestrade was oddly excited. Not only was he going to see his (what would be the point of calling him anything other than a) friend again, but he felt very much at home with these people. Clever Sherlock, loyal John, sweet and innocent Molly, and kind Mrs. Hudson…

It hadn't taken long for Sherlock to notice Molly had been inching ever so closer to him, which he thought cute after having an unaccounted amount to drink.

"So Gregory, I hope my brother hasn't been bothering you too much lately. I was hoping he would leave you alone...well after. Without me there why come to you? No Consulting Detective by your side."

"He's kept in contact. Without you around, the elder Holmes brother was a close second. He still catches things that many of us fail to observe, but he's no Sherlock."

Lestrade had never been one to compliment him, but with all the times Sherlock had cheated death recently, Greg thought it was time to make sure he knew he was appreciated. Triumphantly, Sherlock smirked, proud to have beaten his brother again as all siblings do.

"Well then, shall I call you cabs? I estimate we may all share some wicked hangovers tomorrow if we further delay."

Grinning slightly at Sherlock's smugness, Lestrade answered, "Marvelous idea." He'd certainly had his fair share of wine and was sure he'd be feeling the after effects in the morning.

"Molly," he quickly whispered, "I think you ought to help Mrs. Hudson down the stairs. She doesn't-" she stood up too quickly and had fallen into John, consumed by giggles, "handle it well."

Molly herself overcome with the giggles, nodded in agreement. John had straightened Mrs. Hudson and Molly took over, linking their arms and walking her down the stairs. John was still chuckling about Mrs. Hudson's mishap when Molly returned to the room a minute later.

"So, then you are ok with this?" Sherlock asked cautiously.

"Of course I am." Molly said, somewhat defiantly (most likely due to the alcohol). She didn't want it to be like this, but it would make John and Sherlock happy and had hoped he'd stop asking her about it. With her lowered inhibitions, she might be tempted to make a fuss, and she really didn't want to do that to them. Smiling Sherlock gave her a hug, almost falling over himself now, and escorted her back downstairs, into her own cab.

"Interesting people no doubt," Sherlock said to John, lighting a cigarette.

"I'll say." He grinned, thinking about their friends. They were the oddest bunch of people, but they sure did know how to have fun. He almost said something about Sherlock smoking again but decided to bug him about it later. For right now, John wanted to bask in the glory of having his flat mate and best friend back. This was the first proper moment he had to do so.

"Come on, too cold out," Sherlock patted his back and flicked the finished smoke away, and although calm he smiled a bit stupidly.

They made their way back and sat in their usual chairs; John in the comfortable, fluffy one, Sherlock in the sleek, dark one. Though he tried, John couldn't stop himself from beaming once more. It was just like nothing had ever happened.

"So...did you ever miss 221B?"

"Obviously. As previously stated I would be nothing without my blogger," Sherlock repeated in his usual smirk, but then it changed, "You have many questions I imagine."

John paused for a moment, not wanting to sound too eager. "So many questions, Sherlock." He was surprised to hear how pained and pitiful his voice sounded. To try and make up for it, he cleared his throat and said, "The obvious questions." 'Good, that came off a bit more strong.'

"Begin at your leisure, hopefully I can answer all of them," sinking into his chair, slouching. In his mind he found it funny to hear John become all excited over him. It was endearing.

"Okay... here we go," he began. "Let's start off with: How? I watched you leap from the roof. I saw the body, Sherlock. How did you do it?"

"From the sniper's positions all they saw was the top of the roof, same for you until that biker knocked into you remember? You saw me jump but never land."

"I...I..." John was thinking back to that day. Sherlock was right, obviously. There had been something in the way... a truck. A lorry. Then the biker knocked him over and everything went blurry. Pulling himself back together, he asked "So, you...what? Jumped in the lorry? What happened to you?"

"Very good John, slowly becoming clever-"

"Hey!"

"-but yes, Molly pushed out a look 'a like' corpse from the fourth window. Not much time, though we were able to add on or reconstruct another me and added in some extra blood into a collapsible skull so when it hit the ground at the proper velocity, my head would split. You miss details when in a panic, right John?"

"I mean... I guess." He thought as hard as he could about the man he'd seen lying on the pavement. He'd been so sure it was Sherlock, but now as he remembered, perhaps it hadn't been. There was so much blood and he'd been slightly dizzy after getting knocked over. Maybe he'd seen what he thought he should see. Starting to pick up on this.

"So, Molly gets another corpse and you change your records so genetically, it would seem like you?"

"Spot on," sitting up and leaning over, palms together. "Run off, hide. Then in-" the memories flash quickly, "then investigate..."

"Investigate what? Where exactly have you been?" John asked hurriedly. He just wanted to know everything there was to know. He missed hearing Sherlock whiz off facts and theories faster than John could listen.

"Um," he could feel his shoulder act up, his heart level increasing with the thought, but he cleared his throat, "well had to go off and see exactly who had the gun pointed to us right?" giving a bit of a fake smile. But John knew how fake that smile was. Something was scaring Sherlock. Some thought or memory was so bad that it actually frightened him. Maybe one day, John would find out what that was, except for now he decided to leave it alone. He'd been through enough recently.

"Right. Who else knew you were alive? Was it just Mrs. Hudson and I you left in the dark?" John really had grown to appreciate Molly, but he always felt a stab of jealousy that Sherlock had gone to her and not to him for help.

"Just Molly and eventually Mycroft. I didn't want anyone else to get hurt, or for anyone else to follow. It was dangerous-" Sherlock quips in some air and breathes it out slowly.

"Right, because I've never had to handle danger before." John answered, grudgingly. He knew he shouldn't be getting so upset, but he felts as though Sherlock thought he hadn't been as trustworthy or capable as Molly and Mycroft.

"John... it's not that I didn't trust you, it's... I wanted to keep you under my protection the most... God knows what I would do if I saw anything happen to you."

Sherlock couldn't really look at John, so he stared at his feet and rubbed his shoulder a bit.

"I know... I mean... well, thanks..." John stammered, his slight anger fading into embarrassment. Of course Sherlock had a reason for what he did, and how did John repay him? Accusations, ungrateful arguments. Searching his mind for another topic to jump to, he looked up at Sherlock.

"So... Molly, eh? Are you two- what do the kids call it?- 'going steady'?" he teasingly asked with a smart ass smirk.

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock stood up to move to the window, not wanting to be read. "I assume so if that is what the populace call it." Leaning down he rested his weight on the window sill, the annoyance in his shoulder pestered him.

John's smirk remained fully intact as he watched the back of Sherlock's head, unable to determine what he was thinking. Then he remembered something.

"Sherlock, how are we going to find out what happened? Between Moran and Moriarty, I mean. Do you think Moran handed him over to authorities?" John was genuinely interested, but he also knew this would be something for Sherlock to investigate, which might make him feel comfortable again.

"I'll have to ask my brother about it...he might know something, especially what Moran said..." Sherlock mused finally turning around and striding to where John sat, "How are you from what happened. I mean...would you have done it?"

"Done... uh...which bit?" John asked trying to sound genuinely confused so as to give himself more thinking time.

"Would you have- tried to… no... you were always better than that," Sherlock cleared his throat, then turning to him with a bit of a smile. "Thanks for not caving in. I don't know what I would do with myself if I had to watch you-... go against yourself."

"Don't put me up on a pedestal, Sherlock. I was uncomfortably close to... murder." He felt his cheeks redden with embarrassment at the thought. How could he have ever been within moments of slitting the throat of an unarmed, unconscious man lying on the floor?

"He's just destroyed so much... and after watching him torture you, I lost control." He was trying to defend himself, though he knew it wasn't right.

"I might have. If it meant keeping you alive and that is what scares me John. I think I might have been able to do anything. Wait then! You saw... it?" he drummed his fingers against the arm he gripped and he gave a sigh, "I was hoping you might never find out."

"Yes, Sherlock, I saw it. And there's no reason for you to be so afraid of people seeing it. It's nothing to be ashamed of." John knew Sherlock was a bit insecure at times, possibly thinking they would all pity him or think less of him. He had to be shown that John and the others cared about him no matter what, and he could trust them with this sort of thing.

"I'm so sorry. Please John I am so sorry." Sherlock gripped John's chair to steady himself, his hand quivering, "It's my fault... it's all my fault! He hurt you and I wasn't there! I just- not there-"

John stood quickly and dared to hug Sherlock again. "Don't apologize. This isn't your fault. You saved my life and I will forever be in your debt."

"Shut up," whirling around, "You don't owe me anything! Just stop it. It's my fault ok!" Sherlock was shaking John by the shoulders, "Please... I didn't want you to be harmed, I jumped to save you, and then...then after all of that he just snatches you up," Sherlock's voice cracking on the last syllable.

John stared in disbelief at how much he seemed to mean to Sherlock. This was the time to tell him the things he'd meant to before he watched Sherlock jump.

"I owe you everything. I had nothing before I met you. You, Sherlock, you gave my life meaning and you're my best friend. I can't thank you enough. And don't argue with that."

Frozen Sherlock pulled John to him in a hug, "John..." he felt his head a bit in a dizzy from his drink, though he felt slightly more comforted. John hated crying and felt completely ridiculous when tears began to form in his eyes. He attempted to wipe them away before their embrace broke in the hopes that Sherlock wouldn't see. Uncontrollably, Sherlock gave a bit of a sob, though only a minute, and after swallowing some air, he leaned back to look at John.

This man, he was the only one to accept him for what he was and it was with his own humanity Sherlock found his own. Really his one defender against all others who openly disliked him and whispered nasty comments behind his back. The memories of them together chasing after all sorts of criminals, coming home again to 221B happy and feeling accomplished. Flatmates, colleagues, friends, best friends… A couple of months before the Reichenbach case Sherlock began to notice he would be staring at John far longer than necessary, he would worry over him if he was tired, or he tried his best to keep him pleased. In the haze of being drunk the thought of the mortician disappeared from his mind, only that of the army doctor, the unearthed feelings beginning to stir. Then he remember what Moriarty had said back in the warehouse, how John was holding a secret about Sherlock. It gave him a ray of hope.

"You mean everything John; it was you that made me human." Sherlock stomach fluttered and then he whispered, "Thank you for saving me..." then leaned in and brushed his lips with a kiss.

"Oh, um... yea... you're welcome" John answered, taken by surprise but smiling slightly. He didn't feel any romantic feelings for Sherlock, but their relationship was far past just friendship. John could recognize Sherlock's actions as portraying appreciation, loyalty, friendship and brotherly love. He fell back into the hug, letting his head lay on Sherlock's chest.

Gulping some air, Sherlock ran his fingers through John's hair and murmured, "I love you John. I won't let anything else happen to you again."

Speaking into Sherlock's chest, John answered, "I love you, too" Then, as his vision went blurry for half a second and he remembered how much he'd had to drink, he added, "What are the chances we even remember this conversation in the morning?" and laughed.

"Who knows and who cares..." Sherlock pulled him up and started to kiss him again, trying to slip his tongue in John's mouth. His own mind running off track, racing yet not knowing where it was leading him. John pulled back and sucked in some air.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Sherlock. I'm not that drunk." He put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "Listen, you've got a girlfriend and you've clearly had a bit too much to drink. Just...calm down..."

"But- but you were the first one to accept me...you are my best friend...I do love you John," Sherlock attempted to lean in again, but more so stumbled into him. John caught him before he actually fell over.

"I do accept you and I'll always be your best friend, and you, mine. And I love you too, Sherlock. As a brother and a friend. I'm sorry, but I can't say it's any more than that," John was praying to any God out there that neither he nor Sherlock remembered this tomorrow.

"Oh... I am sorry then... I thought... with what Moriarty said..." Sherlock's face fell and he couldn't look at him.

"Moriarty was assuming things, and I let him belive they were true because I thought it would get us out of there. I'm so sorry, Sherlock. If I thought for a minute you believed me, I'd have told the truth in an instant." It saddened John to see Sherlock so upset.

Now Sherlock's insides began to crumble, everything he thought, those feelings from over three and a half years ago were now a lie. False.

"I thought when I saw Molly again I knew who it was I-I... and then you were there John..." Sherlock was now screaming at himself, angry at his assumptions.

John just stared, feeling more and more horrible by the second. He wished he wanted what Sherlock wanted. Life would be so much easier if he did. However, he couldn't pretend. It wouldn't be fair to either of them.

"Sherlock... I will always, always be here for you no matter what and I will always be your friend. But I'm sorry... that's all I can offer you." he ended awkwardly. "But you've got Molly! Wonderful, sweet, beautiful Molly. I can tell you really do care about her."

After mentioning her, John started feeling guilty on top of all the other feelings. He'd become such friends with Molly, and she loved Sherlock with all her heart. How would she react if she found out what was happening here?

"Molly... yes Molly...o god John, I don't know what I'm doing anymore. When I was trapped- I mean alone, I began to re-evaluate everything and it just...I thought of you first and then when I came back and saw Molly..." Sherlock just curled up into a ball and rested his forehead on the top of his knees, trying to think. John sat cautiously next to the balled up figure.

"It's okay. Listen, you've been through so much. No one's going to blame you for having mixed emotions or being confused about things. You lived your entire life having everything figured out. It was bound to catch up to you eventually."

Sherlock nodded and gave a bit of a shudder. Finally after another minute he laid out his legs.

"Sorry. Again. But yes, you are correct. I do love her I really do." Grinning at the thought of her, the first time they met at Bart's and she was entirely timid as anything, she knocked over a beaker in an attempt to try to shake hands with him.

His grin caused John to smile brightly. "I'm really very happy for the two of you, Sherlock. Molly Hooper's a good woman." and he patted Sherlock lightly on the back.

Like a child, Sherlock wiped his face on his sleeves and laughed stupidly to himself.

"Now it's your turn John. Gotta find yourself a pretty girl to drive around. Someone to talk about jam and jumpers too."

John chuckled loudly. Now that Sherlock was alive and back, it was likely that John would find himself happy again. Probably happy enough to keep the company of others particularly dates.

"I suppose the only trouble there will be finding a girl that doesn't mind my best friend's quirks. You do have a track record of being lovingly rude to my various lady friends." He said this with a smirk and did mean it in a teasing way. He wasn't bitter or upset about all the times Sherlock had ran off a girlfriend of his. If they didn't like Sherlock, they had to go anyway.

"Well that's why I will keep Molly around, so I might be a bit more like a gentleman." Sherlock gave a hearty laugh, "See this is why I like you."

"What is?"

"Just I dunno, accepting? Understanding? Some other basic human emotion?"

John let out a small laugh. It always amused him when Sherlock tried to understand 'ordinary' people. After his ordeal, he'd clearly started to act and think just a little bit more like one of them, but he still didn't quite comprehend simple human things.

"Yeah, well, I suppose."

"Yes, then I guess we should head off to bed?" Sherlock asked, standing up and attempting to regain his balance, "just look at me. This is so silly."

John stood and grabbed Sherlock's arm and began helping him to his room. Sherlock was a bit more intoxicated than he was, so he needed the assistance.

"It's not silly. This is one of those normal human things to do." He knew Sherlock had experience with drugs in the past but hadn't spent much time with alcohol and possibly wasn't used to it. Answering with a bit of a grunt and a nod the two slowly made their way to Sherlock's room, not without reverberating off the walls here and there, before Sherlock stumbled into bed. "Hhhhhrrrrr, blarg."

John pulled the blanket over Sherlock and made sure he was lying on his side, just in case he threw up.

"Night, Sherlock. I'll see you in the morning." John turned around, shut off the light and closed the door, heading to his room.

"Night..." Sherlock replied, but very low and not too long he felt himself nod off. Before then he was trying to think of something, but forgot about it all together and he left the realm of reality.

Back in his bed, John had just long enough to hope that he and Sherlock were too drunk to remember their earlier conversation before he too slipped into unconsciousness.


	10. Chapter 10

'Fuck, fuck, fuck this.' When he tried to think of a simple physics theory his head split open and it was as if Moriarty was there with him. 'Ok maybe not that terrible,' Sherlock scolded to himself. Remaining with eyes closed, he sort of rolled out of bed and tried catching himself on all fours, but landed on his side. Giving a bit of a groan he pushed himself up and when he reached the wall, Sherlock held on for support as he tried to get to the loo.

John opened his eyes at the sounds of discomfort coming from Sherlock's room. "You all right in there, Sherlock?" he called. As he did so, he felt his head ache with pain. God, he hated hangovers.

Somehow he managed to crawl into the bathroom and heaved himself into the shower, not caring if the door was closed or not. Turning the water on, it was a bit comforting and then he decided it would be more enjoyable if he took off his clothes too, so he stripped them off and threw them with a plop onto the floor.

Though he received no verbal answer, the fact that John heard Sherlock in the shower indicated that he was indeed alright. He stood, swaying just a bit from the pounding in his head, and walked into the kitchen. Some cereal would be just fine. He got it out of the cupboard along with a bowl and the milk and sat down at the table. He was furious with himself. He still remembered everything that had happened last night: the kiss, Sherlock's confession, John's rejection, and Sherlock's look of utter sadness. Though he also recalled them resolving it, he had prayed he wouldn't remember the incident just because of how terrible he felt saying no to his very hopeful best friend. John shook his head as his cheeks reddened and thought that the best thing he could hope for was that Sherlock himself didn't remember.

The cold water was helping, and finally Sherlock could feel himself think a little more. Then because of that it, it all came back to him. Everything was remembered.

"Molly and John... shit." In frustration his fist hit the wall behind him, causing him to crack a tile. After another minute he resolved to actually do something, so still sitting there, afraid to stand again, he washed his hair and himself, taking his time. Feeling a bit more clear headed and rinsed, Sherlock clamored out, tossed his dirty mess in the laundry bin and robe wrapped, he walked out into the kitchen.

"Hey Sherlock... How are you feeling?" John asked, carefully and quietly so as to not bother his own painful headache.

"Dandy as a rosebud. You?" replying sarcastically before he joined John at the table, grabbing the box and eating directly out of it, hoping food might suppress it all.

"Same." He looked sideways at Sherlock then said, "So... last night was... interesting." This was his test. If Sherlock remembered what happened between them then he'd assume John was referring to that. If he didn't remember, he might assume John was talking about the party and their friends.

"Yes, John I remember everything, no need to step on egg shells," the mouth said in between munches, his eyes darted from John to where ever else John was not present. He was still unhappy with himself, but gave a sigh when he realized he was snapping at John.

"Sorry... about now and before..."

John choked on his cereal. He hadn't been expecting Sherlock to be so blunt about it.

"No, it's fine... I'm sorry for bringing it up." His eyes fell back to his food, feeling ashamed. Sherlock remembered which means he recalls how horrible of a person John was. 'Damnit.'

Swallowing another bite, he finally looked over John who appeared miserably, half hangover and the other half... 'Probably fretting over me.'

"No worries John, really. I got Molly and well, those feelings were the past, over three or so years ago and I was just a bit funny from the drink ok?"

"Okay," He sighed with relief. Sherlock didn't seem angry or upset with him at all, "Maybe we should agree never to drink that much again," he added, rubbing his temples with his hands.

"My head's killing me."

"Hm, yes. I suppose," Sherlock still mused a little reflecting on his poor behavior the previous night, then he stood up and mumbled about putting clothes on since, "I think you might scold me if I kept a sheet on..." and dressed in one of his new styles, simple jeans, gray t-shirt, and a leather jacket. Stuffing his light and box in his pocket, Sherlock swiftly walked back out. Sherlock was almost unrecognizable in his new garb. To anyone other than a very close friend, this looked like a different man. No dressy shirt, no suit pants and jacket, and most notably, no long coat with its collar upturned.

"Can't look so cool with your cheekbones now, can ya?" John said under his breath, quietly laughing.

"Incorrect John. In this new get up and during my many investigations I had to frequent many bars. I certainly gained some free drinks from other patrons while the women kept attempting to talk to me. Very distracting. I'll only be a minute," he ended on a smug wink before turning to the stairwell.

John laughed as he watched him go. This new, cheerful Sherlock was wonderful to have around. He was just as sarcastic, just as intelligent, but he was more light hearted. He laughed easier, made jokes. Whatever he'd been through since he'd faked his death had obviously had a serious impact on him. John wanted so badly to know what had happened to him, but knew Sherlock wasn't ready to talk about it yet. Maybe one day, he'd find out.

Outside, the air brisk, he took out a smoke and held it between his teeth, puffing away so he might further relax. 'What should I do with Molly. Bollocks. It's all fucked up really.' Mulling over this in his mind, Sherlock crinkled his nose when he smelled the smoke, having realized it had burned to the filter. Flicking it away, preparing himself a lecture from John, he turned to open the door and found a curious envelope that had been stuck under the knocker of 221B. So Sherlock picked it out and saw it was addressed to both John and him, naturally he began to open it as he ascended back upstairs.

As he heard Sherlock returning John began "You know, Sherlock, I think it'd be better if you stopped smok-" but his request was cut short when he saw the envelope. "What have you got there?"

"O don't fret John, I'll stop soon, I have a feeling Molly might disapprove and be very cross. I dunno, checking it now. Also is there any milk left, container looks almost empty," he replied without even looking up as he sat in his usual chair.

"Yes, there's an unopened container in the fridge, just bought it last night." He made his way from his place in the kitchen to the chair opposite Sherlock.

Sherlock chuckled, "Glad I don't have to go buy more...or wait when did I ever. And then there's your jam problem, we ought to see to that John, very bad for the teeth. All that sugar and-" Sherlock had finally read the letter and his heart sank into the pit of his stomach. He had his voice caught in his throat as he knee trembled slightly.

"Sherlock, what is it?" John sat straight up in his chair, noticing Sherlock's panic, "What does that say?" Clearing his throat, he steadied his voice as best he could.

" 'Glad to see the two of you are in good health and spirits. Hopefully our last tussle does not damage our relationship, seeing as it has gone so well. I especially look forward to seeing John since he had made some advancing moves on me, though I think Sebby might disapprove, but don't worry I will restrain the Tiger as much as possible. Anyhoo, tell everyone I send them my love and have a good afternoon.

Love, Jim Moriarty PS. Dear, dear John you need to jump off the high horse you have, seems to get you into trouble does it not?"

John fell back in his chair and buried his pounding head in his hands.

"No... no this can't be... So he's fine then?" He raised his head to look at Sherlock, "Moriarty's fine? Moran letting us go was... all part of the plan?" John felt anger rise quickly inside him, "I should have killed him when I had the chance."

"It was all an act... a show... Moran... Moriarty wanted us to go and went so far as to-" Sherlock blinked, a bit twirled now and mind dumbfounded. 'He always knows me weakness, shit...'

"So... what do we do then?" John asked, hearing the urgency in his own voice.

"I…I'm not sure- MOLLY!" Sherlock pulled out his phone and texted quickly.

Molly, where are you? You ok? Answer immediately. -SH

I'm just at my flat. I'm fine. Why, what's wrong? -MH

Wait Sherlock, there's someone here -MH

Oh it's -MH

"John, we have to go now!" Sherlock ran up into John's room and flung some clothes and shoes at him as he started to dial her phone. "Something's happened with Molly I think!" The phone rang and then there was a click.

John threw on whatever clothes were around in a strange haze. "Who was that on the phone? What happened with Molly? Sherlock...you don't think he's got her do you?" 'Shit...shit no.'

"I don't know, come on hurry!" He screamed before dashing down the stairs, and even tripped on the last few falling in a heap. Sherlock scrambled up, ignoring the pain because the pressure against his still healing cuts didn't really help. Outside Sherlock flagged down a cab for them and waited for a response on the other line of his phone.

John jumped inside the cab when it slowed and tried to steady his breathing as Sherlock essentially shouted Molly's address as the driver. He'd thought it was all over. Why was this happening all over again?

"Pick up, pick up, pick up. John, call Lestrade and only speak to Lestrade, you understand?"

"I understand." He grabbed his phone and dialed Lestrade's mobile number. No answer.

"Sherlock, he's not picking up!" He was starting to really panic now. 'No, calm down.' "Okay, I'll try his office number." From the other end of the line he heard the voice of someone he did not want to deal with right now.

"Sergeant Donovan"

"Donovan, listen, it's John. I need to speak to Lestrade right now."

"Well that's too bad. He's not in. Try his mobile."

"Where is he? I need to speak to him immediately. Donovan, this is serious."

"Yea, well I wish I could help." She hung up. John's wide eyes stared at his mobile, feeling his face go pale.

"Sherlock... Lestrade's not in or answering." he said, his voice quivering.

"No..." Sherlock was about to call Mycroft when the taxi pulled up to her flat. 'No...this was our flat...' and Sherlock ran up the stairs and banged on the door. Every silent second that went by felt like hours. John's heart was practically beating out of his chest. He joined Sherlock in pounding on the door, as though this might in any way help.

"Shit God damn," he kept repeating in a hushed, scared voice.

"Molly! Molly! Please answer!" Sherlock was attacking the door with his fists. 'We just went through this and already he's bored! No, no please...'

"Fuck it!" John shouted. He shoved Sherlock aside and poured all of his adrenaline into one kicked which knocked down the door. The two of them frantically hurried inside. Sherlock sprang in and started to search the rooms. No sign of her. Nothing seemed out of place but, why...

"Anything John?" he called back out into the living room.

"Nothing in here." John started shaking. What was going on?

Panting he sank down and started to think, Sherlock running through some scenarios.

"OI! Whoever is up there, hands up you bastards!" a voice called down from bellow.

"Gre-Gregory?" Sherlock bolted up and cautiously approached the door, "it's just us, John and I."

"O bloody hell, Sherlock..." Lestrade came up the stairs, Molly following close behind.

"Why didn't you answer your phones?"

"Wha- What are you implying?"

"We tried calling the both of you and we were ignored! The hell you think I am implying?"

"Look, me and Molly were talking about our mobile plans last night at the party, and agreed to go buy a plan together because it's cheaper that way," Lestrade answered very annoyed.

"Oh you've got to be kidding me," John said, ready to pass out.

"Sherlock, what's wrong?" Molly asked walking over to him and taking his hand. She could see that he and John were in a panic.

"Look, I'm sorry about not finishing the text earlier. You had me so paranoid that I got scared when I heard someone was here. I was about to type 'Oh God it's just Lestrade' but I was a bit shaky and hit send early. We shut our phones off to reset them onto our new plan. I'm so sorry. What did you think happened?"

"It's-" Sherlock emptied his lungs and collapsed in a chair, "we all got spooked is all..." Sherlock began to drum his finger in an odd pattern, as he shot a glance to John.

/Should we tell them or wait. Your call./

John gave a small nod to Sherlock. They'd both had too much experience keeping things from their friends. Plus, something was sure to happen soon and it was best that everyone involved know what danger may be in store.

"Here," Sherlock handed the two the letter and briskly headed to the kitchen to make tea, hoping to calm himself and everyone else when they finished reading it.

"Oh God... no... He can't be... back..." Molly felt sick and almost fell over. John caught her at the last second and helped her sit down on the sofa, "But...what about what happened with Moran?" she asked, her voice almost squeaking.

"We think it was part of the plan." John answered, attempting to keep his voice soothing so she may feel more calm. "They wanted us to get out alive."

"It was part of the plan," Sherlock answered curtly, "He gave us hope and then shattered it. Bastard."

"But didn't he attack Moran? With a knife and all that? Make no sense," said Lestrade as he sank into another chair, rubbing his face with a hand.

"From what I've seen, Moran would do anything for him, even sustain some serious injuries. If Moriarty tells him to do it, Moran does it." John couldn't help but think that if he and Sherlock were in that position and he was being told that he'd have to take a knife to the arm to sell the story, then he wouldn't argue either. John shook his head to push the thought away. They were nothing like Moriarty and Moran.

Pouring in the hot water and gathering a tray from the cupboard, Sherlock set up the tea and placed it on the coffee table, first pouring Molly a cup and then himself.

"That is troubling..." Lestrade said and crossed a leg, getting himself a cup.

Molly took the cup from Sherlock and took a sip before finally speaking again. "So...what do we do now?" When Sherlock had joined her on the sofa, she put down her tea and fell into him, wrapping her arms around his stomach. She needed to be held for just a moment so she could regain her composure.

"I am thinking of that love, I am," Sherlock wrapped an arm around her with one hand and held his cup carefully with the other. He knew of only one option, but really had no desire to entertain it. Molly looked around the room. Of the four people here, she was the only one to live alone. Her eyes began to tear up as she thought of how terrified she was sure to be at night, alone in this flat, knowing Moriarty was at large and knew exactly where she lived. She clung to Sherlock even tighter. Sherlock felt her cling to him and draining his cup quickly, he tried soothing her, rubbing her arms. With her there, having to acknowledge her, it made it easier to at least think of something.

"John. Originally I was to move out of Baker Street and move in with lovely Molly here, but due to the situation it changes everything. Molly, pack only what you need because you are coming home with us."

"Really?" She felt her heart lighten considerably. Staying at 221B Baker Street would definitely make her feel safe. She'd be constantly protected by John and Sherlock. She sighed hugely with relief, then added, "I mean, as long as it's alright with you, John," turning to him.

John looked at her and replied "Do you really need to ask?" He was relieved that Sherlock had suggested this. He'd feel much better knowing for sure that she was safe.

Lestrade nodded in agreement, "I'll let Mycroft know, keep it silent and secret."

"O yes, my brother, probably be useful somehow..." Sherlock noted.

"Apart from him, though, we'll want to keep all of this between us," John advised the others, "The less anyone else knows the better."

Molly nodded to show she understood, then rose to her feet and disappeared into her room to pack her things.

"Just when I thought things might get back to bloody normal..." Lestrade murmured and then started a line of cussing and frustration.

"I'll be back," Sherlock quickly said and then followed Molly into her room, "So you are comfortable then living with us. Mind you not just me but John too.

"Of course" she replied, throwing a few blouses into a suitcase. "I mean... unless you're not sure you want me there," she added quickly, afraid that the offer was about to be rescinded and she'd have to remain alone.

"No, no, perfectly fine. I would rather you with me, kept safe," Sherlock sat on the bed cross legged and helped fold her clothes. "If I had it my way I might find a pretty little cage and store you away loving song bird."

"Are you sure though? I won't be a burden or anything?" There was nothing Molly wanted less than to be in someone's way.

"Please, stop it. Come, pack. Everything will be better, I promise," he answered and kissed her forehead.

Molly smiled, positively reassured now. After she finished packing some clothes and other necessary items, the two of them returned to the living room where John and Lestrade were in the middle of a conversation.

Hearing them arrive, John turned and said "Ready? Greg and I were just discussing that we should head back to Baker Street, continue this chat there."

"Correct. Lock the door, see the stove off, the hair curls unplugged," Sherlock said cheekily, descending the stairs and Lestrade rolling his eyes after him. Molly locked the door on her way out and the four of them made their way to the sidewalk where John signaled a cab. When one stopped, Molly slid into the front seat with her suitcase and the men squeezed together in the back.

"Hey, don't be crowding me, you are interrupting my walk through the Mind Palace."

"I would but John has his leg on my side."

"Would you two knock it off?"

"221B Baker Street, please," Molly told the cabbie, smiling slightly from the very childish arguing happening behind her.

Sometime later, they all had order in Chinese food, figuring out their situation, and the hour began to draw near.

"So let me get this straight. We all stay in London, cause he would just come out right after us and the best thing to do is simply investigate?" Lestrade answered surprised.

"That seems to be all of it. He's here. We're here. Better to hold a stance than run off," Sherlock replied, sipping coffee.

"True. But do we honestly want to just sit around and wait for him to attack again? How much investigating can we really do?" John asked.

"Mycroft's on it. The government remembers. Shan't make the same mistake twice... I hope..." then Sherlock noticed Molly was becoming tired so he added quickly, "I think I might retire now, and Lestrade you still have a wife to get home to?"

"Sod off," Lestrade said, but couldn't help but grin. "See you chaps later then, night." Sherlock closed the door behind him and then realized when he turned around and saw the pair, his closet friends were living with him. Cohesively, he predicted.

"Night soldier," he said heading to the bedroom.

"Night, you two." John responded, getting up and walking towards his room.

Molly followed Sherlock into his room. It had been a week or so since they'd shared a bed and she didn't want to impose so she asked "Is there room in here for one more? Or shall I bunk it on the sofa?"

"Molly..." Sherlock couldn't help but look to her in disbelief and then we walked back to her, moving aside a straggling hair. Before she could say anything else, he bent down, grabbed her by the waist, and heaved her over his shoulder to carry her to bed. She laughed as he set her down on the bed.

"I just had to ask. Didn't want to intrude in your personal space."

"Please, what space, silly love," he said teasingly with a kiss, "Nice to have you over for a change. This shall be interesting."

"Interesting indeed," Her grin became broader, "Thank you so much for letting me stay here." She kissed him on the cheek and gave him a tight hug.

"I would rather like to think it's not 'allowing' you to stay, rather I want you to stay, ok," Sherlock stated as he lay on his side, watching her happily and then...a funny thought...

"Molly, shall I estimate that your birthday is in a month?"

"Let's see... a month and six days to be exact," She looked at him suspiciously, "Why?"

He chuckled to himself and started nuzzling her neck, "O nothing, just trying to remember my important dates is all."

"Don't be surprised if I don't believe that's all," Molly laughed warmly.

"Shhhhhh," Sherlock kept her from talking when he kept his mouth up against hers and held her tight, finally though he had something else to say, "I missed you... even if I was unconscious for some of the days, but I definitely would have missed you."

"I missed you too," she answered. "My flat felt so empty without you there." She looked down, feeling slightly embarrassed at how much truth there was to this statement.

"Good," Sherlock briskly stood up and went over to the light switch, "Careful, John's above us remember?" Before he flicked the light off.


	11. Chapter 11

At first life at 221 B was a bit vigorous, especially now someone of the opposite gender was living with the Consulting Doctor Detective Duo. Shut up inside most of the time, Sherlock helped Lestrade with some cases, John went about being a doctor, and Molly at Bart's. When out of the house, Sherlock sometimes would even sneak in a smoke, slowly curbing his habit, but not absolutely whole heartedly.

So then everything is set? -SH

Yes, yes, now stop bothering me I have more important things to do!-MH

Sherlock smirked and began to pack his things and pulled out Molly's case for her when she came home.

Hey John, hurry back. Urgent business with a case of Lestrade's. Must leave town for a day or so, come with. Molly too I suppose. -SH

Where to? -JW

Not sure entirely sure, he just gave me coordinates, but he's meeting us there too. Got a car for this one, long ways away, save up instead of a cab. -SH

Okay, I'll be right home. I just saw my last patient of the day. -JW

Good. -SH

Molly, come home. Bored. We are leaving for a case, hurry will you? -SH

Sherlock then packed his own duffel back and tossed it into the car, double checking the back. Satisfied, he retreated upstairs to his violin and composed for awhile. Her cab pulled up in front of 221B Baker Street and she climbed out. Ascending the stairs, she called up to Sherlock, "Okay, I'm here now. Where are we going?"

"Dunno, Lestrade just gave me the coordinate, pack only the necessary stuff and leave it by the door, I've got the car mostly packed a certain way."

"Okay. Hey John," He'd just come through the door as well.

"Alright. Let's get going." They both split off to their rooms and returned minutes later with packed bags.

"Anything else before we go?" Molly asked.

"Just your wonderful selves," Sherlock picked up their bags and headed to the car, tossing them in the back and shut the trunk.

"...Allonsy?..." Offering Molly the opened door to the passenger side before he clamored in himself, and then sped off into the evening. And drove. And drove.

Out the city, beyond the city limits into the country, and further, further. By midnight.

"Hey you can all sleep, it's ok. I used to remain up for days remember?" Sherlock gave a wink when he saw Molly begin to nod slowly off. She faded to sleep almost immediately after closing her eyes, but John wasn't too unbearably tired as of yet.

"So, what's this all about? Which case are we working on?"

"Mmm, very important, possible serial killer in the woods or I think it's some village. People just been disappearing, though not frequently reported since the village is considered to be the UK's finest. Lestrade has more detail than I have."

"Mmkay. How long until we get there?"

"By the time you wake up, might be there already ok? Relax, we'll be fine. Got my clever mind, your soldier skills, and now two doctors on hand."

"Okay... I'll try to get some rest. But if you need someone to keep you from falling asleep, don't hesitate to wake me up."

"Sleep? What's sleep?" Sherlock said and smiled as John finally drifted off.

Not until midmorning did they pull up to an inn, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by a bit of woods, a ways off the highway. Parking the car, engine shut down, Sherlock quietly began to unload everything in the back, and happily he found an abandoned cart entangled in some weeds, dumping everything inside there. John grunted himself awake and realized they'd come to a stop. He saw that Molly was still sleeping in the passenger's seat but Sherlock wasn't in the car anymore. John stepped out of the car and saw Sherlock nearby with a cart and all their luggage.

"Morning. Need some help?"

"Well I suppose so why don't-"

"Hey! What the bloody hell is going on here!"

Lestrade exited the inn, furious as he approached Sherlock.

"My, my Gregory, good morning to you, I always thought you were one to be up bright and early."

"Shut the hell up you," pointing a finger to Sherlock, then turning to John, "You know what this is all about? The emergency?"

"Sherlock said something about a possible serial killer..." John answered weakly. He sensed he hadn't gotten the whole story.

"No! He said there was a possibility that someone was being held up here, maybe you or Molly and that I had to come rushing out into the middle of fucking nowhere just to get here!"

By this point Sherlock finished packing a sort of bundle of assortments into the cart and going to Molly he gentle shook her awake.

"We're here love," giving a smile.

"Mmmm..." Molly opened her eyes, "Morning" she said with a smile.

"So then what's all this about!" Lestrade demanded, grabbing Sherlock by the arm and pushing him into the truck, "oh, hi Molly. Now what the FUCK are we here for. Clearly there is no emergency and now I'm having a bleeding heart attack."

"No emergency...? Sherlock, why are we here then?" Molly wasn't sure if she was entirely confused because she was still half asleep or because the situation was indeed confusing. John grabbed Lestrade's shoulders and pulled him back, away from Sherlock, to prevent any injuries.

"O curious thing, must have gotten my dates mixed up..." Sherlock shrugged innocently, "So since we are here, might as well follow the 'mysterious' map. Start our own investigation then."

"But- but..." Lestrade was just standing there feeling stupid, "You know what he's on about?" asking Molly and John as he watched the detective adjust the cart and start pushing in some random direction.

"Absolutely no idea," John answered, completely bewildered. Molly got out of the car and rushed to catch up with Sherlock.

"What's really happening here? You've never confused dates in your life." She knew she'd never be able to read him in a million years, but that didn't stop her from trying.

"No? Surely I must have at some point in my life because if I recall I remember Mother becoming cross at me for not buying Mycroft a Christmas gift. Maybe another slip up? Well, no bother, let's just continue, better hurry Lestrade and grab your bags!" Sherlock called behind him.

"O bugger all..." Lestrade dashed inside the inn, clamored for anything his hand reached and rushed out after them. As John caught up to the other two, he asked Sherlock, "So what's this map you've got?", panting slightly.

"Dunno, found it amongst my bags, though it's in German so you won't be able to read it. Guess I'll play translator and expeditionist," he smirked to himself, "Ah good you decided to follow."

Lestrade caught up to them and couldn't speak so he just gave Sherlock a glare.

"You found it?" John asked. "And we're just following it? You don't find this the least bit suspicious?"

"Guess we best keep on our toes then. Who knows what spooky ghosts and goblins hide in the woods. Or maybe vicious hounds," Sherlock gave a wink and continued forward. John smiled a bit at the memory, though the case had been all but cheerful.

"So where is it taking us?" Molly asked with a touch of excitement. Though three of them had no idea what was going on, this sounded fun. Lestrade, John, Sherlock and herself adventuring? Definitely more enjoyable than another boring old day at Bart's and, as long as Sherlock wasn't concerned, she had no reason to worry.

"Not sure myself, not many distinct land markings..." he mumbled, keeping his back to them, and off he lead them. Winding around trees and the underbrush as the hours ticked by. To their delight the day was pleasant and not too hot, and even Lestrade slowly began to enjoy himself. 'Holiday away from the misses...' chuckling to himself.

"How's the leg John?" Sherlock asked light heartedly a few hours later, "glad I made you get rid of that blasted cane right?"

"Very glad" he answered, beaming. "Did you bring any provisions? I'm starting to get a bit hungry."

"I second that," Molly added. She knew Sherlock didn't eat regularly so she couldn't be sure that he'd think to pack food for them all.

"Indeed. The essentials, here, according to the map we might reach a clearing up ahead very soon. I suggest we camp for the night before it begins to darken," smiling back.

"Then let's go you tosser!" Lestrade grabbed the cart and ran ahead.

"Hey! I'm the one with the map... I'm captain!" Sherlock bounded after him. Molly and John laughed as they rushed to keep up. Through his panting, John teasingly told Molly,

"You've picked a winner there, Hooper." She didn't answer but chuckled even harder. By the time they caught up to Lestrade and Sherlock, she was almost completely out of breath. The two finally broke the tree line and Lestrade had to dig his heels into the dirt to stop.

"Amazing..." the two looked at each other then began to stare back on ahead at the blue. The endless blue of two distinct hues. The sky and ocean settling comfortably on top of each other and the gray colored cliffs and rocks that lined in front of them.

"Quite." Sherlock stepped near the edge and observed down. Molly walked up beside him, still a little breathless, and slipped her hand in his.

"It's beautiful."

She noticed he was looking over the edge and wondered if it was bringing back painful memories from the roof of Bart's. She gave his hand a small squeeze of comfort and of thanks for bringing her here. Sherlock was startled when she squeezed his hand, barely noticing she had walked up beside him, and gave a small step sideways when he did. Suddenly, the rock he had stepped on became dislodged and slid underneath him. Almost dragging Molly with him he quickly let go and fell only a foot before holding another rock with a free hand.

"Sherlock!" Molly screeched, drawing the attention of the others. John jumped forward and with the help of Lestrade, pulled him back up and on his feet.

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry, Sherlock, I'm so sorry," she covered her face with her hands. "I didn't mean to frighten you, I'm so sorry... Are you alright?!"

"Whew. That was exciting," Sherlock brushed himself off a bit, keeping on a good face, but hid his hand in his pocket, waiting for the tremble to pass, "Sorry Molly, that tends to happen when I wander too deep into my Palace it's ok." Hugging her and behind her he gave John a bit of a grave look, but brushed it to the back of his mind.

"No, I'm sorry. I know you zone out sometimes. I shouldn't have done that...I'm so sorry," Molly spoke into his chest and hugged him tightly. She was waiting for her heart to beat at a normal pace again and to move past the terror of losing Sherlock she'd been close to experiencing yet again.

"How about we camp here, right guys?" Lestrade piped in, rummaging through the cart before finding the tents and other equipment.

"Yes, let's!" Sherlock broke away from Molly quickly and helped him unload. Slowly, he commanded his body to relax and still, though for a split second the fall had reminded him of everything again. How he had to fool John, ask for Molly's help, and then hunt him down. Shaking his head, 'None of that Sherlock... stop it...' As the men set up their camping area, Molly turned her back, hoping no one would notice her trying to pull herself back together.

John turned to Sherlock and in a hushed voice asked, "You alright, mate?"

Sherlock nodded, "Yes, just. Well, falling..." giving him a weak smile and then punched him in the arm, "I'll be fine. Plus I brought drinks, eh?"

"Oh, that does sound appealing, ha-ha!" Lestrade answered excitedly.

"I could use a drink," Molly finally turned around, completely composed and smiling and as she started helping them, she kept her eye on Sherlock. Despite his acting she could tell he was shaken from the incident but pretending it hadn't affected him.

Two tents up and fire around, they toasted to the beauty of the night and cooked food over the fire, much too Sherlock's disappointment he burned a second marshmallow. Gloomily he watched the black charred remains splat at his feet. Molly saw this and handed him her own stick with a perfectly toasted marshmallow on the end.

"Here, have this one." She told him. "I'll get another." Molly guessed Sherlock hadn't done much marshmallow roasting in his life.

"Thanks love," happy to finally get a good one and munch on his he laid back and looked up, "I read up more on the solar system John, great deal to learn surprisingly."

"I told you!" John laughed. "So, now I suppose that means Sherlock Holmes officially knows everything."

"Of course. Sounds like you are finally stepping above the term Ordinary," Sherlock chuckled and nursed his bottle of beer before poking Molly in the back, childishly. Poke. Poke poke... pokepokepoke. Molly, being incredibly ticklish, squealed and turned to hit him lightly. Giggling, she said "Knock it off, you!"

"No!" Sherlock grabbed her around the stomach and pulled her down, hands at her sides as she laughed underneath him. Lestrade turned to John in sing song voice,

"How sweet! Young love! They are so bloody adorable, ugh," before swigging another beer.

"Nothing sweeter," John replied in the same high pitched way. They tapped their bottles together in a teasing toast and chuckled.

"Quiet you," Sherlock said as he gave quick kisses on Molly's neck and held the side of her, grinning mischievously.

"Oh, come on, if we can't mock our two best friends, where's the fun?" John asked, amused. As he watched them together, he felt oddly peaceful. They made a strangely wonderful couple.

"O so it's fun you want?" Sherlock quickly bolting to his knees, his hands grubbing for John, Lestrade watching interested hazy eyed. John felt Sherlock grasp the sleeve of his jacket and fell over. He started playfully hitting Sherlock as Molly untangled herself from the heap. She stood and watched them wrestling letting out an overdramatic sigh.

"You boys and your fighting."

"Waaaah!" Lestrade gave a war cry and fell within the scrap, as Sherlock tried to get the John off him.

"I forgot you were a soldier who apparently killed people."

"You know about my bad days!" The three of them rolled around, punching each other and laughing. Molly opened herself another beer, fully entertained by these idiots. After tossing John into Lestrade he stood up and then collapsed dramatically, "Surrender, surrender." Panting he closed his eyes and relished in the carefree attitude, the thoughtlessness. Not deducting or solving a mystery, he realized, did take up a lot of brain power.

"Good," Molly said, falling down beside him and slipping her hand around his waist and snuggling up to him. John and Lestrade decided it was a tie and both settled back around the fire. The party fell silent for a few minutes, enjoying the quiet of the country and the relaxing to the sound the waves down bellow. Sherlock sighed and rubbed Molly's arm lovingly. Lestrade gave a yawn and cracked his back, finishing the last of his bottle.

"Get a room you two, indecent."

Molly stuck her tongue out at him and smiled.

"Speaking of rooms, which tent is who's?" John asked, gesturing towards the set up tents off to the side of the fire.

"Thine lady choose first," Sherlock answered, lifting Molly up.

"I pick... the one on the right." She pointed at the biggest one and grinned.

"To your chambers I shall lead thine lady, night chaps!" Sherlock carried her into the tent.

"Night Sherlock," Lestrade responded and waited until Sherlock was distracted by Molly, "How is he?"

"He's been so much better lately. She's done wonders for him. He's still emotionally wounded from everything that happened, but I can see him getting better every day," John answered in a hushed tone.

"Hm. I'm glad for him. He could use a break for once, poor lad. But John, you realize you helped him a lot too right? I even knew him before you came into the picture, so for me this is not the Sherlock Holmes I met at all. Not by a long shot."

"I suppose..." John didn't like taking credit for these sorts of things, "We've all done our part to help him, yourself included."

"But what the hell are we doing out here? Don't get me wrong, I'm glad to get away, but if he wanted to take a trip with all of us, why didn't he just ask?"

"Mysterious as always. It's Sherlock we're talking about. Hell as if I mind now, just had been bloody nervous before. Idiot. I wonder if we'll ever get to a point in our lives where we understand him."

"Doubtful. If anything it won't be us. Might be her," Lestrade looking to the tent and gave a sigh.

This struck an odd chord in John. He had been so used to being the person that knew Sherlock the best, the one he'd confide in. Now, someone else was going to take over. In all the time he'd spent with Sherlock and Molly, the thought had never occurred to him. He cleared his throat and answered, "Right, yeah. Probably will be."

Lestrade saw this and placed a hand on his knee. "Remember you were the one to start it mate. If not for you we would not be here at all. And who knows Sherlock might talk to you more. I saw him look to you after his tumble back there."

"I know, I know," John was embarrassed, "I'm happy for them. Truly, truly happy... I just don't want to lose my best friend." He knew this was stupid. Sherlock cared about him, and Molly would never allow the two men's friendship to drift because of her. Yet he still worried.

"I'll leave you to it then mate," Lestrade clasped John's shoulder before entering the tent.

John waited for a moment then stood. He looked down at the bottle in his hand. 'Damn, I'd better stop drinking. I get far too emotional.' He left it on the ground and headed after Lestrade sometime later.


	12. Chapter 12

Panting, Sherlock had to sit up because he was still very sore and recovering. Pressing a hand to his chest he checked his hand, then turned to Molly giving her a peck. "I'll be right back love," crouching in the darkness, he somehow found some sweatpants to throw on and gave her a last wink.

"Mkay," she replied, beginning to nod off. After all the walking and whatnot today, she was quite exhausted, "See you in a bit then, my love."

Outside he crouched by the remnants of the burning fire and looked at his hand again. Blood. Looking down at his chest, the "J" in Jim started to ooze, of course, it was the one he cut into hardest. Annoyed, Sherlock broke out the first aid kit and damped some peroxide on him. From his tent, John heard noises out in the clearing. Being a little paranoid, he sat up and quickly made his way out of the tent.

"Sherlock, you nearly gave me a heart attack. What're you do-are you alright?" He interrupted himself when he saw the blood.

"John!" Sherlock wiped his hand on the grass, "Sorry... opened up a cut is all... didn't mean to wake you up."

"Don't worry about it." He walked closer to see the wound. "Those still bothering you?" he asked, gesturing towards the cuts.

"Unfortunately, some of them open with any rigorous activity. Guess I shouldn't have fought the two of you," now the 'I' began to drip slightly and huffed, Sherlock started tending to that one too.

"What about you? The- the leg..."

"Oh, I'm just fine," John answered, "I feel great actually. I'm glad we came here," the army doctor looked around, noticing that the area looked much lovelier with no flames to shed light, "So what's the plan then? How long are we staying out on this little journey?"

Sherlock merely shrugged, "Just following the map," he replied attaching some fresh gauze.

"Why though? Why are you trusting a map you just found?"

Ever since they'd learned that Moriarty was back, John had been paranoid about everything. Every single new patient he treated looked as though they could be working for him. He'd race out after work and rush to the flat, only calming once he saw both Sherlock and Molly alive and well.

"I guess instinct? It sort of... speaks to me... so please do not trouble yourself with it," he trailed off staring at the stars, "'Some infinities are bigger than other infinities.'"

"I suppose..." He too looked at the sky. "Sherlock, are you okay? Really, actually okay?"

"Course not. I'll never be ok. Certainly the years of drugs probably did not help neither, nor a psychopath who loves to slowly kill me, yet keep me alive. Fake attempted suicide. But having Molly and you around makes it easier. I'm mad John, you know that," Sherlock announced matter of fact, "I'm wounded. That's why I like having a Doctor around."

John put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "I know this is hard. You know we'll always be here for you." He gave Sherlock a half hug, not wanting to get blood on more items than necessary, "Get some rest, doctor's orders." He stood, preparing to head back to his tent.

"Yes sir!" Sherlock gave John the salute before retiring, and shook his shoulder accompanied with a reassuring smile. "Night."

"Night, Sherlock." He disappeared into his tent and fell rapidly back to sleep.

Somehow he woke himself up, which was nice because he could not recall the last time he slept in. Ever. Checking around he saw the other body still asleep, so he carefully crawled over John and went outside. Cracking a couple of bones, Lestrade scratched and looked around sleepily. Then he realized he ought to clean up, so he gathered the empty bottles and started another fire. Rummaging through the supplies he found some bacon and insta pancake batter, so being a softy he decided to cook breakfast too. Even in the morning the area was stunningly beautiful and while cooking he watched the gulls and enjoyed the light breeze.

Molly woke to the smell of food cooking from out in the clearing. When she opened her eyes, she found herself fully wrapped in Sherlock's arms. She loved the feeling and didn't want to end it, but she was quite hungry too. At the moment, food was on the top of her list. She quietly got up and grabbed for some clothes. After dressing, she leaned down and kissed Sherlock's forehead lightly, not wanting to wake him, and headed out of the tent.

"Morning, Greg. Nice of you to start breakfast." Molly greeted him, yawning and stretching.

"Ya, ya don't get use to it," he watched the bacon crisp, his mouth watering, "but morning yourself. Actually a very good morning."

"How'd you sleep?"

"It was a bit troubling to fall asleep at first, some odd noises outside, but eventually it stopped and I went to sleep," Lestrade answered smugly and winking at her. Molly's eyes widened and cheeks reddened.

"Um... yea... oh... yes, I heard those too...no idea what that could've been." She turned and walked towards the edge of the cliff under the pretence of gazing at the beauty, while actually waiting for the embarrassment to subside.

Something was missing... he felt slightly colder... then he realized his enormous hot water bottle was missing, so Sherlock finally woke up and looked through his collar to check his chest. None of the blood had come through the bandages, so he breathed a sigh of relief and kept to shirt on, so as to not bother Molly. Sherlock found Lestrade laughing to himself, but quickly found Molly and carefully approached her.

"Don't you fall too," he said softly.

She jumped slightly at the sound of his voice, but didn't slip as he had.

"Oh, I won't." she answered, backing away from the edge. She slid her right hand into his left and asked, "Sleep well?"

"Mhm," rubbing his eyes and yawning. Lifting her hand, he gave it a kiss and then led her to the fire, his stomach for once protesting to be fed. Molly made sure to avoid eye contact with Lestrade as she and Sherlock dug into the meal he'd prepared. She was still ashamed that he'd heard them last night and wasn't ready to endure more snide remarks. Part way through her meal she said, "I'll go wake John, shall I? He'll want breakfast while it's still hot." and made her way into his tent. She returned with him in tow moments later.

"Allo Doctor, sleep well" Lestrade asked with a raised eyebrow. Watching him, Sherlock could tell he heard them last night, "Git", but he smiled anyway as he ate a strip of bacon wrapped in the fluffy pancake.

"As well as one could" he answered, looking at Molly then Sherlock out of the corner of his eye while grabbing a plate of food.

"Oh Jesus, not you too," Molly excplaimed, throwing her hands in the air exasperatedly. She sat defiantly down and picked up her plate, finishing the little bit that was left with deeply red cheeks. Chuckling, Sherlock quipped,

"Don't mind them. They are just jealous of my girth and stamina, being a young buck. They are just old men with fluff on their faces is all."

"Oh yea, that's gotta be it," she said sarcastically, still looking down at her plate.

"Come on, Molly, we're just kidding around," John sat down next to her to eat his meal, "We're your friends, that's what we do."

"I suppose..." She let the smallest hint of a smile cross her lips.

"I'm sorry, I am corrupting you aren't I?" Sherlock said.

"Maybe... but you won't hear me complaining." Molly looked up and winked ever so slightly.

Smirking back he turned to Lestrade, "So lay off her then will you?"

"Hey I didn't say anything."

"Uh huh..."

The group ate and when finished, packed camp and with Sherlock in the lead headed out... somewhere. At some point, Molly slipped into all out giddiness, giggling and skipping on occasion. The girl thought it probably bothered the boys, but she didn't really care about that because she was having an extraordinary amount of fun here.

"You becoming delirious on me?" Sherlock asked and then looked to John worriedly, "Madder than a box of cats."

"Don't go and mock me. I could just walk along and be boring like the three of you, but I'm choosing to make the most of this beautiful weather and day," she told them obnoxiously twirling just to annoy them.

"Boring?! Us? I am a bit insulted Molly," Lestrade cried, "we have the World's Only Consulting Detective, his known life partner, you, and then me!"

"You say that as though it's impressive." Molly retorted with a snarky edge to her voice.

"I'd say it's pretty impressive." He indicated the men on either side of him and added in a deep, booming voice, "I mean, look at us."

"Yes look at us!" Sherlock and Lestrade shouted at the same time, glancing to each other before looping their arms together, abandoning the cart, skipping ahead. "Brilliant men in those flying machines!" Singing together.

"Oh Lord, what have I started?" Molly asked as John doubled over in howling laughter.

"I have no idea, but thank God you did it!"

"O hey, hey looky here!" Lestrade turned to his right to see an enormous tree with multiple huge branches. Too tempting he started to climb, squirrel like and laughed like a school boy.

"Hey! Get down! If you hurt yourself, I'm not helping you," John called as he watched the Detective Inspector from Scotland Yard climb a tree.

"Yes come down," Sherlock lazed and followed up after him, being slightly taller he could reach the high branches, eventually climbing past him.

"Learn to have a bit of fun, John," Molly smiled as she too hopped up into the tree. She was the lightest so she moved the quickest and caught up to the other two in a minute.

"Hey love, fancy the weather? I say it is very lovely here, wouldn't you agree?" Sherlock laughed in amusement.

"Mhm," from her perch on the thick branch Molly reached out to grab his hand. Except she missed and leaned too far, starting to slide off the limb. She gasped and scrambled to find another branch to cling to. Fortunately, she found one as she fell. Unfortunately, she got a fairly lousy grip and ended up dangling from it.

"Hm... you seem to be in a pickle, here," Sherlock cupped his arm, "drop and I'll catch you, then cling onto my back ok?"

"Ugh... yes, fine." Molly had been looking for a way to get out of this that didn't involve anyone else's help, but that wasn't going to happen. 'Damn...John will never let me live this one down.'

"Just tell me when."

"Ready," he tightened his arm muscle and when she let go he dug his feet into the tree and held on for dear life. It happened so quick and with a small yelp, Molly fell and Sherlock clutched her waist just in time. Slowly he moved her behind him, careful not to break his arm in the process.

"Thanks, love," Molly said sighing with relief and gave

him a hug, "I think I'll get down now." Climbing off his back and reaching for another branch, Molly started back down the tree. In her rush to get down, she jumped from a bit too high up, landing awkwardly on her right foot. "Damn..." She placed it gingerly on the ground and applied pressure to find that she could indeed stand on it, though the slight pain might be annoying after awhile. She looked up and saw John watching her.

"Don't you say a damn thing." Molly said, indignantly pointing at him. Ignoring this, John began his lecture.

"What did I say? I said 'Don't go up the tree.' And what do you do? 'Oh, John it'll be fun, la-di-da!'" His scowl softened just a little as he added, "You're alright though...?"

"'Course I'm alright," she rolled her eyes, feeling more and more embarrassed by the second.

"Argh me matey, what you be doing on my ship?" Sherlock asked, branch in hand with one eye closed.

"Scallywag, this be my ship!" Lestrade answered breaking off his own branch as they started to 'duel' while sitting on branches.

"Arrrgh are you ok my love?"

"Just fine" Molly called up to him. "Now, will you two idiots stop messing around?"

Eventually the two decided on a draw and climbed down, back at the bottom, "I know you said you're fine, but want to ride the cart anyway? Still plenty of room."

At first she considered this for a moment. "I'm okay for now. If my ankle starts bothering me too much, I'll let you know," She smiled at him and added, "Thanks, though" giving him a peck on the cheek.

"Onwards, then?" John asked.

"Mhm."

Continuing along the coast line, they were all utterly alone, with a few scattered clouds floating lazily about. When it started to darken, the group found another suitable clearing, the forest line now much farther away, more like hills and rock.

While the others set up their tents, Molly gathered wood and started their fire. There weren't logs to sit on so she pushed and pulled some of the least jagged rocks over to the fire so they'd have some places to sit down.

"Want me to start up some dinner?" she called over to the men.

"O hoho, woman making us dinner. That sounds proper," Lestrade answered. Sherlock just smacked him upside the head.

"Let's not forget who made breakfast, Detective Inspector," Molly retorted slyly. Regardless of his snarky answer, she opened a can of beans and began to cook. Lestrade stood stupidly there, not expecting Molly Hooper to retort in that way, but Sherlock laughed and gave her a hug from behind.

"I am so proud of you!"

"Thanks love. Looks like you get to eat tonight! And so does John," she smiled.

"You're too kind." John said sarcastically.

Molly winked at Lestrade to show him that she was kidding and that he would indeed be getting fed. They ate, laughed, swapped stories, Lestrade in his wild days of high school and Sherlock's interesting ones in Uni, and were enjoying s'mores when it became properly dark out again, clouds giving more cover than the previous night.

"Seems like a good time..."

"A good time for what?" Molly asked blissfully, basking in the cool night air.

"All of you, turn around, face the other way!" Sherlock pointed away from the ocean before he dashed to the cart. Grumbling because they had all been so comfortable, the three of them followed instructions and turned around.

"This had better be good, Sherlock." Molly called "If you just had us stand up for nothing..."

"Shhhhhhhhhhhhh."

Lestrade shook his head, "Hurry up will you?!"

"I second that request." John said, slightly exasperated. Sherlock jumped back because it rocketed up faster than expected and with a bang, he quickly moved to the next one.

"The hell?" John's question was answered a second later as color exploded into the sky and Molly squealed with delight.

"Whoa…"

Sherlock then light a few others, each with different fuse lengths and plopped down with the rest of them, "Engineered them myself. Been wanting to try them out!"

A couple more exploded in the sky, a mix of blue and purple, and another a diamond of gold and red.

"Oh they're wonderful!" Molly half shouted, cheerfully. She took this very romantic moment to slip into Sherlock's arms, laying her head on his chest and staring at the sky.

"Here," Sherlock tossed a lighter to John, "get the rest will you. I happen to have a Molly on me."

John caught it, smiling. "Of course." He stood and made his way over to the bundle of unlit fireworks.

Laying back, Lestrade crossed a leg, "I could get use to this."

"You don't do much already," Sherlock remarked.

"I indeed do!"

" 'Not my division, hrrrrrrr.' "

Molly giggled. "You're getting a bit too comfortable away from work. Don't forget, we're going back someday. Those cases won't solve themselves."

Rolling his eyes at them, 'Kids these days,' he muttered and continued watching, and Sherlock comfortably shifted underneath her, twirling a piece of her hair. 'How could life possibly get better than this?' Molly thought to herself as she felt Sherlock's hand in her hair. The ocean, the fireworks, the friends, and, most of all, him. "I love you" she whispered as quietly as she could, so as to not disturb Lestrade.

"I love you too..." Sherlock cupped her face and gave her a long kiss. Marveled by her he realized and calculated how impossible it could have been to be with Molly Hooper. Over seven billion on the planet, scattered in various groups of religion, ethnicity, geographically. Somehow in the sea of chaos she was there...

When they broke their lips apart, Molly returned her head to its familiar place on his chest. She liked to make sure her ear hovered over his heart so she could hear it beating. So many colours danced in the sky above them, some raining down in sparkles, others in shrieking bursts and fizzles. A few minutes later, Sherlock slipped away from Molly to help John with the remaining few because these were the most unstable compound of chemical explosions and for someone so small he worried his friend might blast into the sea.

"Together?"

"Sure," John replied, glad for the help. As they were homemade, he'd been a bit concerned about lighting the fireworks himself, "Thanks."

Reaching into the sack, Sherlock pulled out an enormous rocket with numerous smaller rockets attached to it.

"Let's send this one off the cliffs and over the ocean," smiling with glee, "plus this one is the dangerous and most unstable one so..."

"Fine idea," John grinning mischievously. Now that Sherlock was over here, the danger seemed more humorous than before. Together, they planted the attached stake into the ground, angling it in such a way that it should explode over the water.

"Alright everyone! The finale!"

As it shot off, they ran to join the others so they could all bask in the glow together. John whooped when it began exploding. Sherlock howled and Lestrade strung together cusses happily and ambitiously gave Molly a kiss on the cheek. Over the water, it was a fireball white and from there the smaller rockets shot in various angles forward of green, blue, red, yellow, and purple. When the incredible light show ended, Molly cheered loudly.

"That was brilliant!" She turned to Sherlock, eyes wide with excitement, "Thank you so much for bringing them!"

"Couldn't keep them cooped up in the flat, Mrs. Hudson might stumble on them and become cross. And we cannot afford a cross Mrs. Hudson."

"True, true. She can be a very stern woman," John agreed, laughing, "Well, nice work, mate. That was quite entertaining."

"Yes, yes," Lestrade yawned and stood up to scratch his back, "I'm off, but thanks for the show. Night."

"Sweet dreams Gregory," Sherlock replied smugly.

"Don't expect breakfast waiting for you in the morning," Molly teased after him.

John chuckled. "You're not making breakfast? Shoot, I suppose that means it's my turn then."

"Mhm, don't burn it," Molly said, punching his arm lightly.

"Quite correct, John. I guess at some point I might have to too," Sherlock sighed and proceeded over to his backpack pulling out the map and studying it over.

"If I am correct and I am always correct, I believe we should reach our destination possibly by afternoon or little after, depending when we wake up of course-" he stopped. Something dripped on his palm. Then another.

"GET THE EVERYTHING IN THE TENTS!" Sherlock scrambled to pull out the tarp and cover the cart.

They leaped to their feet and helped him cover their possessions hurriedly.

"Don't help us or anything, Greg!" Molly shouted through the rain. He'd only been in the tent for a few minutes so she was sure he was feigning sleep to avoid helping. Grumbling, Lestrade picked himself out and helped what was left as the rain started to become heavier, pelting them.

"Well this certainly came out of fucking no where!"

"I think that's everything!" Sherlock shouted as he removed his coat and threw it over Molly.

"Better call it a night then" Molly yelled over the sound of pouring rain. She took Sherlock's hand and started back towards their tent. Taking her hand he sped up and sort of catapulted himself inside, laughing the whole way as Molly fell into him.

"Blasted. It wasn't suppose to rain..." he gave a slight pant as the water dripped from his hair.

"Oh, that's alright. I don't mind," Molly gave him a kiss on the forehead then looked around the tent, "I'm just surprised your handy work held up." She'd half expected it to collapse under the weight of the rain.

He snorted, "O thanks for the confidence, but my dear, it seems you are very dampened. Let me help you with that," Sherlock devilishly made grubby hands at her and she giggled. "As are you!" She ruffled his hair and drips of water flew every which way.

"Careful, I don't want the dye to come out!"

"Oh, calm yourself. Everyone here knows who you are and, if worse comes to worse, we'll re-dye your hair when we get home." She stopped ruffling and patted it back down to its usual style.

"I thought you liked my new style," at first leaning into her, before Sherlock nuzzled her neck.

"Of course I like it. You always look lovely."

"So do you, don't forget," Sherlock spoke into her neck giving little nips.

"Aw, thanks love."

Molly used to hate compliments, always rejecting them because she herself thought they couldn't be true. She believed there was something wrong with her. But now, with Sherlock saying all these wonderful things with such sincerity in his voice, Molly was almost starting to believe them, and she couldn't thank him enough for that.

"Because you really shouldn't forget Molly," he kissed her shoulders, "your hair is such a natural, lovely color. Couldn't ask for smoother skin either," tracing his mouth down her arm to kiss her wrist. She turned her hand so it rested on his cheek. "You are too kind," she chuckled.

"And your mouth, it's so perfectly shaped," Sherlock crawled into her, "it was never small, I was being an idiot back then..." he placed his arms next to her.

"Don't worry about that," Molly told him, finding his hand with hers and holding it, "I forgive you entirely."

"Excellent," kissing her mouth before absolutely holding her down gently, "Molly...you're just...incomparable to anything else..."

Once again, Molly found herself at a loss for words. Sherlock had such a way of rendering her speechless with the beautiful and loving things he said.

"I just...I just..." she began, scrambling for words to match her feelings, "I just love you so much."

"Aye...I do too..." this is what he absolutely cherished, letting himself get lost within her. The universe stopped expanding, comets halted, and planets ceased from rotating.

They had fallen into one of their periods of silence where they said nothing but just relished in each other's presence. Molly adored these times; hearing his heart beat, hearing him breathe, feeling his hand in hers, and just existing with one another.

"Let's ignore everything shall we?"

"Oh, like what?"

"I just want to focus on you. Nothing else..." kissing her slowly, Molly made his head feel a bit stupid, 'More Ordinary?' but he didn't care, it was his longing.

"Can I suggest one thing? Let's remember this time that there are non-deaf people in a tent not very far from ours," Molly smiled bashfully, "I love you, but I couldn't stand another awkward breakfast with John and Lestrade."

"What!? There are others here?"

She rolled her eyes, but her smile continued. "Very funny, love."


	13. Chapter 13

Weird. Very weird. Sherlock looked around, confused, trying to remember where he was last. It was a corridor, but a poorly light one, very darkened up ahead.

"Sherlock..."

Whipping around, he quickly dashed into the direction of the noise and to his right was a large wooden door with a handle.

"Pleaseeee..."

Quickly he gave it a turn and busted through, his eyes searching the room desperately. It was a study, a desk surrounded by bookshelves filled, and in front of a comfortable fire was a chair facing away from him.

"...help..."

Again, peering into the light Sherlock saw a limp hand hang from it and he ran over.

"I'm here, everything will-"

"Oh, ho, ho, look what I found," the madman's eyes flashed as he pushed the blade to his neck, but Sherlock was quicker, his hand immediately shot for the throat.

"Why can't you just die!"

"Becausssse that wouldn't be fun Sherly," he dropped the knife as he was pushed into the back of the chair, "Life's too boring without me in it."

With a growl, Sherlock's fingers closed tighter on him, the figure below him gave a gasp and was at his mercy.

"Sherlock...I'd be careful if I were you."

Uncaring, Sherlock squeezed tighter because he had to hear his windpipe crack, he had to be certain this time.

"Sherlock..."

"Shut up."

"...Sherlock..."

Grasping harder, waiting for that sound...

"Sherlock..." Molly's cries were turning to whimpers now as his fingers wrapped tighter around her throat. She could hardly breathe now and her vision was blurring.

"Hello? What's going on in there?"

"Just fucking die already!"

"Sherlock!"

Lestrade practically tore the tent open and he saw Sherlock straddling Molly, whose eyes were fluttering as she began to grow quite.

"FUCKING LUNITIC!"

A right hook hit the side of Sherlock's face and he was sailed into the side of the tent as the ceiling dipped, the plastic poles creaked dangerously.

"Molly! Molly! JOHN! JOHHHHN!"

"The hell is going on?" John asked groggily as he followed Lestrade's voice into the other tent. When he entered he stopped dead in his tracks. The scene unfolded before him; Lestrade standing over a barely conscious Molly with Sherlock sprawled across the tent, a large cut beginning to bruise on his cheek. "What happened?!" He leaned down to inspect Molly's condition.

"He was killing her John. I think he could have cracked her neck," Lestrade was furious and with John there, he dragged Sherlock outside. Dazed, yet conscious, Sherlock blinked into light and realized his body was being pulled from the tent. Stopping, Lestrade sat heavily on Sherlock's stomach and grabbed him by the collar.

"What the fuck were you doing to her!"

"Wh-what?"

His answer was met with another fist, "Bastard why!? Give me one good reason?"

"She? Wait Molly? What's happened to Molly? Lestrade!"

"You were killing her-" Sherlock shoved him off and started for the tent, but Lestrade instead caught up to him and pulled him by the ankle.

"Molly! Molly!"

"Greg, don't do anything drastic!" John ordered from the tent. He was sure that if he'd walked in and actually seen Sherlock hurting Molly, John would be in the same rage as Lestrade. However, it was best to ensure that no one else got seriously injured today.

"I need you to grab me a water bottle from the supplies."

Hearing him, Lestrade got up but shoved Sherlock away from the tent

"Just go away, right now," he growled.

Sherlock's eyes darted between him and the tent, and without thinking twice he ran away from the encampment, back alongside the cliff's edge before he disappeared around a corner.

Inside the tent, John had put one of the pillows behind Molly's head and covered her in a blanket. They had very few medical supplies with them, so this and water was about all he could accomplish.

"How is she?" Lestrade asked as he kneeled down next to her, and his stomach turned when he saw the flaming palms that were now stamped around her neck.

"It's hard to say," John was shaking in spite of his many years as an army doctor, "She's still slightly conscious, but another minute or so and she'd be..." He trailed off, not wanting to think about the end of that sentence, "What the hell got into him?"

"No idea...just..." Lestrade collapsed his face into his hands, rubbing vigorously. Hoping maybe if he thought hard enough he would wake up, but when he picked up his head and saw the bruises, the almost broken body, he shuddered.

After minutes of silence, she stirred.

"Molly? Molly!" John heard his voice crack but didn't care, "Molly can you hear me?"

"Wha-" Molly just managed to croak out.

"Oh, thank God. Save your breath, Molly. You're going to be alright."

"Do you remember anything?" pressed Lestrade, "I know you can't speak, just nod your head or something."

Tears began to fill her eyes and pour uncontrollably as she nodded very slightly. She sat up, curled her knees into her, covered her face, and silently sobbed as the pain in her neck fully hit her. Tears fell harder still when she remembered who was the cause of the almost unendurable pain.

He ran. He ran as far as he could along the coast until he lost all breath and his legs gave way, causing him to fall and scrap his head against a stone. The pain was not perceived as Sherlock struggled to pick himself up and sat on rock looking back out into the ocean. Panting, his whole body was shaking uncontrollably, so he felt his pockets for a light when he realized they were back at the camp. Cursing, he stood up and began to pace, trying to figure out what to do, what to say. Though slowly and slowly it crept onto his consciousness that he attempted to kill Molly. 'I could have snapped her windpipe.'

"Ya Sherlock, you really did a number on her. I think you even scared her a little."

Whipping around, Sherlock's eyes were under the gaze of the wild grin and soulless eyes, his hands tucked comfortably in his Westwood suit. Stunned silent, Sherlock just looked helpless at Moriarty, unable to think of anything to say to him.

"What you did is a bit unforgivable, don't you think?" Moriarty said calmly, walking past Sherlock to stand at the edge of the cliffs, "attempted murder, dear me..."

Back at the camp, John turned to Lestrade. "Listen, Greg, you stay here with Molly. Make sure she's alright." He took one of Molly's hands and gave it a small squeeze. "I'm going to have a word with Sherlock." He added in a growl.

"I mean really, how could she look at you the same way again," James said coyly, moving back to Sherlock, "like when the two of you are in the heat of the moment, she might wrap her arms round your waist and say something lovey dovey puke stupid." James had in fact wrapped his body around Sherlock, who stood numbed and lost.

"And then just as she goes to kiss you, thinking about the wonderful fuck she was going to give you, she remembers and it frightens her. O yes, Sherlock, it terrifies her." Jumping up, James gave Sherlock a peck on the cheek and ran back to the edge, eagerly looking down.

"This one's not as high, but you got the rocks at the bottom to help. Think about it Sherly..."

With a final word, James still facing Sherlock, spread his arms to his sides and allowed himself to fall backwards. Sherlock gave a cry and ran to catch him, but before he reached him he already disappeared and a sickening crack was heard. Scrambling to the spot, Sherlock looked down and scanned the bottom. Nothing. No blood. No body. Nothing

John made his way out of the tent and followed the path he assumed Sherlock would take. As he walked, anger built up inside him. He found the tall figure near a cliff, looking over the edge.

"Oi!" he shouted, grabbing Sherlock's arm and spinning him round, "What the hell were you thinking?"

Dizzy he felt spun and was suddenly looking at a small man and Sherlock gave a blink.

"John?" he asked confused.

"You almost killed her. You almost killed Molly," John cleared his throat and tried to contain his rage, "She is back there scared to death with red marks all over her neck. What could possibly have made you hurt her?"

"I- I," again Sherlock checked the side of edge, no one was down there, "Is um...she's ok then?"

"That's a matter of opinion." John answered harshly, "She's alive, at least...though just barely."

That was enough to make up his mind. Sherlock eyes locked onto John as he began to step back, "Don't come near me John. Don't have anyone near me you understand."

"What?" John's tone changed. His anger faded rapidly into confusion. "Sherlock, we're not just letting you wander off alone..."

"I'll kill next time. I- Shit," Sherlock took off without another word, he had no intention of hurting anyone else ever again. Never again. John took off after Sherlock but was too slow. As he disappeared from view, John shouted.

"You'd better come back! We've lost you once and I'm sure as hell not doing it again!"

Sliding into a halt, Sherlock turned around and saw John had began to walk away and a headache was persisting in his skull. After another moment, Sherlock started to jog back to him, "John! I'm sorry!"

John slowed and turned, thanking God that Sherlock was coming back. "Listen, it's okay." He could see that Sherlock was on the verge of a breakdown, which was new for him, so he pulled him into a hug.

"I know you didn't mean to hurt her... but can you just tell me what happened?"

Sherlock couldn't hug back, he was terrified to do so. "It-it," he gave a small shudder and swallowed, trying to keep himself together, "Moriarty. I was in a hall or a house and- and he tricked me into finding him-" Heaving in some air, he started to speak quicker, "It was a knife, he caught me by the knife and almost cut me but I had my hands on him and- and- even with him loosing air he was still smiling... even on Bart's roof he was smiling. He always smiles, John."

"You were...dreaming?" And John understood. Sherlock was haunted by the viciously grinning face of James Moriarty. If it appeared to him in a nightmare, it would make perfect sense for him to lash out... unfortunately, Moriarty was not the one to receive the injury. As Sherlock hung loosely in his arms, John hugged tighter.

"She's going to be fine, I promise."

Stiffly, Sherlock managed to raise his arms and pat John's back, but he still felt this void that was sucking what reality he thought he still clung onto, and for a moment his eyes gazed longingly for the edge, especially if it meant he would hurt someone again.

"You think so?" he finally asked.

"I guarantee it. She's a tough one, that Molly Hooper. It might take a bit for her to recover, but I know she will," John said this with conviction, yet he was unsure. He knew she would recover physically, but what about emotionally? After what she'd endured, how would Molly react to seeing Sherlock again?

John had pulled back slightly and saw Sherlock's eyes lingering on the cliff.

"Let's head back." he said, as more of an order than a suggestion.

Sherlock gave a small nod and was led by John back to camp and upon their arrival Lestrade was standing outside. Seeing Sherlock he became very alert and watched him with narrow eyes suspiciously.

"How is she?" John asked, hoping to distract Lestrade from attacking Sherlock again.

"Well she stopped crying and drank a bit of water. She wanted a bit of time to herself to think a little..." Lestrade eyed Sherlock who was fixated on the tent nervously.

"Molly? Is it ok... can I see you?"

Molly froze. She wasn't ready for this, she knew she wasn't, but she didn't want to tell him no. The back of her mind told her he hadn't done it intentionally and was almost positive he wasn't conscious when he'd put his hands around her neck. Saying she couldn't see him would only make him feel terribly worse about the situation. At the moment she was still having a difficult time speaking, but she did manage a shaky "Yes."

Having heard her, Sherlock looked to the doctor and the detective and mustered himself inside. He wanted to die. There was no other way Molly could have possibly curled up into a smaller ball, quivering slightly at his sight. It made him feel disgusted.

"Sorry, Molly," Sherlock scrambled out of tent, tripping over the edge and crawling a bit off to the side he wretched a bit and got terribly sick. The bruises, they were horrible. And without wanting to, the smile came back to mind and he further vomited until there was nothing left. Inside Molly began to cry again. Originally she didn't want to, but when she saw Sherlock she was reminded of his face as he wrapped his hands around her neck and it terrified her. Without full control of her voice, she could only shudder and sob silently. Having been pushed out of the way and hearing crying inside, Lestrade turned to John.

"I'll just check on her again."

"Want us to keep him away for awhile?"

"I...I don't know..." Molly's head was spinning.

She knew she loved Sherlock with all of her heart, but how could she look at him without remembering how close to death she came at his hands? Lestrade sat with her when she finally seemed to have run out of tears, but the uncontrollable shaking didn't stop.

Outside, Sherlock gagged and spat. With a bit of strength he picked himself up and washed his mouth out with some water and sat on a log near where the fire was, catching a breath. Looking at the ash he remembered mere hours ago the four of them were drinking, eating, and laughing watching stunning fireworks overhead. The rain that drove them inside.

John sat beside him, unsure of what to say. After a minute or so of silence, he asked a tremendously stupid and obvious question though he knew the answer already.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes...I think so now..." Sherlock breathed a sigh and turned his head to where Molly was, guessing Lestrade was inside, "I'll try again..."

"Hey, I'm coming in now ok?"

"You want him in here, your call?" Lestrade sighed

The victim braced herself and gave a very small nod. 'Don't cry this time. He's still Sherlock.'

"It's ok Sherlock," Lestrade answered and Sherlock stepped in and sat down, but he kept his distance. For the next while he explained his nightmare and how it ended up Molly being at the length of his arm instead of Moriarty. It was difficult to keep composer, even though he was talking to both Lestrade and Molly he felt Molly's fright because it weighed heavily in the air. Throughout Sherlock's explanation, Molly kept her eyes fixed on the floor. Every once in a while she nodded to ensure that everyone knew she was absorbing the information, but she said nothing.

"I see," Lestrade moved his eyes between Sherlock and Molly, "Would you feel safe if I left you alone with him?"

Her eyes flitted to Sherlock then up to Lestrade. "Yes..." she answered very, very quietly. She no longer felt threatened by Sherlock's presence, but she knew the memory of what happened would haunt her, quite possibly forever.

"Molly..." Sherlock pushed his weight up and crawled to her a bit, settling down with only a meter or so between them, "I-... I don't know what to say. It's all my fault, everything. I hurt you Molly, nearly killed you." He took his hands and rubbed his eyes vigorously, trying to keep his emotions from spilling over.

"It's not... It wasn't..." Molly couldn't seem to find the words. She didn't blame him, really. This was all because of Moriarty. He had filled Sherlock with such dread and terror, and it was he who caused Molly's current suffering. She wanted nothing more than to be held by Sherlock, but she wasn't quite sure she was ready for that yet. Instead, she put her hand on his shoulder and closed her eyes, overcome with feelings.

The touch did it. He pulled his head down by the hair, practically bending his body in half, the tears burned his eyes as they began to flow out. Sherlock seethed through his teeth, all of the negative feelings inside himself exploded at once in one large supernova. Well, if he was going to cry there was certainly no stopping her. Molly gave up and fell into his chest, sobbing hard. Wrapping her arms around his torso, she pulled him to her and clung tightly.

Wrapped around him, he wanted to protest, afraid to be near her, but changed his mind because he needed her. She needed him. The need was mutual. The time past and the two finally calmed down, now very exhausted by the whole ordeal.

"Love, if I can still call you that, there's nothing I could do to make up or repair the damage done, but it's only the afternoon, and there is still time to reach our destination. Please, finish it with me?"

For the first time since the incident, Molly looked into his eyes. They were filled with such sorrow and remorse and a little bit of fear. She knew he was afraid that he'd never be forgiven for what happened. "Of course. I love you, Sherlock." Once Molly said it, she knew it was absolutely true. Even after what he'd done, he was still her Sherlock, and she still cared for him desperately.

"What?" lightly pulling away, stupefied, "But...just how? After everything I did? After everything that happened before? Molly, before living with me was dangerous, but now I'm the danger. Have you even considered it?"

"I've done nothing but consider it." Ever since she'd opened her eyes after her brief blackout, she'd been thinking about what was to come.

"I won't pretend that I wasn't utterly terrified, but I know you didn't mean to hurt me. If you're having nightmares that violent, then you need someone to help you through them." She grabbed his hand, feeling stronger and less scared than before. "I do love you, Sherlock. Maybe it's stupid, and maybe I shouldn't, but I do."

"And what if he comes back? What if he puts you in another situation? Or if he gets to you...what if becomes bored? If he has you in the palm of his hand and finds you boring...Jesus Molly I dunno what I would do."

"You're worth the risk," she answered, simply.

"Damn it Molly..." finally able to look her in the eye, Sherlock saw she meant it, maybe slightly scared, not knowing the future, yet willing to do so if it meant being with him. "You are wonderful, I hope you realize this," Sherlock noted, moving a piece of hair out of the way.

Molly didn't respond but squeezed the hand of his she was holding. She'd been so proud of herself for pulling her emotions back together and speaking clearly and strongly, and she was afraid that if she spoke, she'd ruin all of that and break down again.

"It's ok, you should save your voice for later anyway," he said soothingly, leaning in to kiss her cheek, "Ready to continue our adventure?"

His question was met with her nod, thankful for the excuse to stop talking, and let Sherlock help her into a standing position. Her legs were still shaking, but she didn't mention it and tried to hide them from him, not wanting to trouble him further.

"This is not proper my love!" Again he scooped her up in his arms, he always enjoyed these little moments, and exited the tent, "CHAPS! Hurry now, we have a destination to reach and her Majesty has waited long enough! Now rest here and don't lift a finger," Sherlock instructed, placing her down in the cart and quickly kissed her hand. Observing him, Lestrade watched as Sherlock dashed to and fro taking apart the camp hastily.

"...John...?"

"I have no idea..." John watched, open mouthed, as Sherlock energetically ran around their campsite and Molly sat silently, with a very tired half-smile in the cart.

"I doubt we'll find out what happened in there anytime soon, so we might as well help him pack," John told Lestrade, stepping forward to assist Sherlock.


	14. Chapter 14

"Push forward, we are almost there!" Sherlock raced, pushing Molly faster and faster toward the hill in the distance, "Just over the hill and the map indicates we'll be there!"

Jogging to keep up with Sherlock and the cart, John asked once again, "And you still don't know what we're going to find here?"

"Not quite, but I might- but then again- hm, let's find out!"

"O bloody hell Sherlock come on!" Lestrade huffed, scrambling up the hill almost on all fours. John stifled his doubt and said nothing, partly so he would not sound too unnecessarily worried and partly because he was running out of breath as they made their way farther up the hill.

"Molly," he locked his bent knees to halt the cart near the summit of the hill, "I need you to close your eyes," Sherlock held the side of the cart so he might look at her.

"You trust me?"

She rested her hand on his, said "Of course I do," and shut her eyes promptly. Like a child he looked to his blokes grinning, and gave a few more strides stopped at the top.

"Welcome, friends, to Barafundle Bay! Did I mention we are not in the U.K. anymore?"

Molly opened her eyes and gasped. "It's wonderful!" A beautiful bay lay out before them. Over the hill on which they stood, a sandy beach led into the clear blue water of the ocean, lapping gently against the shore. It was entirely deserted but for the four of them. Though she was still not as strong as she'd like to be, Molly couldn't help but jump from the cart and run to Sherlock, hugging him tightly. John was grinning hugely.

"'Oh gee, I don't know where we're going, John'. Yeah, right," he teased Sherlock. "This is great, mate."

"Happy Birthday love," Sherlock picked her up by the waist and gave a twirl.

At this point Lestrade was sprinting down the hill, even tripping and rolling the rest of the way down laughing like an idiot, "FUCKING BRILLIANT!"

As John ran to join Lestrade, Molly looked up at Sherlock with huge eyes.

"This...this is all...it's for me...?" After all the crying she'd done recently out of pain, she was glad that there was finally a reason for tears of joy to fall, "I didn't think anyone would remember! You're amazing" She leaped up and hugged him around the neck, ignoring, for a moment, the pain she felt in her own where the bruises still remained.

"It's a week early, I know, you're too clever Molly and I knew you would be suspicious," Sherlock hugged back and laughed watching the boys run off, "Can't have them beat us!" Carefully he led the cart down into the sand and started stripping. Shirt off, he picked a bag out of the cart and tossed it before them, "For the boys!" Then picking out a smaller bag, "For thine lady. Had to sneak it out of your drawer..."

"You're too good, darling," Molly told him, smiling. She found her swimming suit and, after ensuring John and Lestrade were facing the other direction and would not be turning around any time soon, changed into it.

"I can see why she puts up with you Sherlock!" Lestrade said cheekily and with a smirk as he tied the rope of his trunks.

"Stupid bastard!" Sherlock rushed him and attempted to lift him over head, Lestrade scrambled and flailed desperately, "Someone needs their head cooled I think! John? Opinion?"

"PUT ME DOWN!"

"Children! Behave!" Molly shouted in a dramatically bossy and mothering tone, though still beaming. As much as she wanted to run, she still wasn't entirely in control of her legs (especially after not walking on them for awhile) and did not want to fall over, so she began making her way, slowly but surely, down to the water. Cussing and swearing, Lestrade should have thought to keep his mouth shut especially when thrown into the water, swallowing a good deal before breaching the surface in sputters and coughs. Sherlock was laughing hysterically, clinging onto John to not collapse.

"Hang on. Sherlock! Hang on. Greg, you alright?" John called over to Lestrade who had clearly not been prepared for his dip into the water. Shaking his head, water droplets flying everywhere, Greg looked determined at Sherlock, who made the mistake to watch Molly approach them, lost in his rapture for her. It was if nature read his mind and made everything perfect, the light hit from behind, almost like a bit of a shadow. She was perfect, the bruises did not exist around her neck and her hair fell delicately along her shoulders. And-

"AH!"

His thoughts were interrupted when a spider of Lestrade clutched onto his back.

"I jump, you jump right love!" Lestrade shouted and pulled everything he had back, the two falling into the water with a splash. Molly started laughing as she waded into the water. "Now, now boys. Let's not hurt ourselves, okay?" she shouted to them, though she continued her chuckling.

"I'm on it!" John called to her, reaching for the two men to pull them apart. He was finding it thoroughly entertaining, but Molly did have a point. Giggling stupidly the two men eyed each other up, and wordlessly decided with a smiled about the same idea.

"John..."

"Yes, John..."

"He's not wet yet..." the two said in unison and turned, looking eerily over to John.

"No no no no no no!" John said, backing up and pointing at the other two, "Don't you get any ideas!"

The two chuckled darkly before Sherlock swept a leg underneath John's causing him to buckle, Lestrade catching his arms and Sherlock by his ankles.

"ONE!" They gave him a swing.

"TWO!"

"THREEEEEE!" Launching the small doctor in the air.

"AAAHHH!" John shouted as they picked him up and tossed him under the water. Before his head was submerged, he thought to hold his breath. When he stood back up, he turned to the others. "You sons of bitches!" and pounced on them, knowing he was no match for both.

"SHI-" despite the man's small stature and three years separation, Sherlock sometimes underestimated the strength of an ex- soldier hedgehog. Molly had finally made her way out to them but stood off to the side, not wanting to get caught in this friendly spat. She rolled her eyes and sighed.

"Ugh...boys."

"Ah, just look at those two," Lestrade waddled over to her, resting an elbow on her shoulder, "It was if they were friends their whole lives."

Molly smiled vaguely as she watched them. "It really is. He's changed so much with John around. If they'd never met, there's no way he'd be this relaxed... or even go to a beach."

Eventually the two made truce and walked off onto the beach, collapsing in the sand and laughing. For Sherlock it took him back to Buckingham Palace and he grinned even further at the memory. Two idiots laughing at something relatively stupid.

Molly and Lestrade followed them back to the sand and she plopped down next to Sherlock, looking out over the water. The sun was just setting on the horizon and she gazed at it transfixed.

"My mother. She was the one to drag us out here, though my father never came out with us, he was usually busy with the business," Sherlock began to explain, "Often in the summers we came and one time when I had a huge argument with Mycroft at seventeen I ran away to here."

Molly wormed her way into Sherlock's arms. She so very rarely got to hear about his past, but she loved when he opened up.

"How long did that last?" She remembered running away from home herself for about half an hour when she was young. Of course, she'd only been about eleven and was not nearly as resourceful as Sherlock.

"Well, jumped into the back of some produce truck I knew was heading into Wales, hiding under the canopy crossing the border of course. Eventually when the truck neared the inn I sort of had to tuck and roll out. Not the most graceful though, falling into a prickle bush for a softer landing...it wasn't."

John now imagined a teenage Sherlock falling into a bush full of thorns and snickered slightly to himself. The Sherlock he knew was so graceful and calm. It was nice to know there was some imperfection in him at some point.

"Well, you got much farther away than I did when I ran away," Molly interjected, "I just walked outside my house and went down the street, waiting for my mum to panic and let me have my way... Didn't quite work out that way though... I gave up and went back home crying after half an hour," she giggled slightly embarrassed.

"Awwww, at least you had the decency to turn around instead of scaring your mother half to death. Somehow or another Mycroft guessed where I was and not only having travelled non-stop from the road to the beach, I lived here for another two days maybe?"

The others turned to look at him, all very impressed.

"You were seventeen!" John exclaimed. "How did you even- Oh, I'll never understand you, Holmes." he added, shaking his head.

"What? I read up on basic survival skill in our library, not that difficult. Fresh water from the streams back in the woods, fish to catch, and I even made my lean to against the rocks over there," he said slightly annoyed and pointed to the left by the cliff's wall.

"Well, pardon us for spending our teen years somewhere other than a library," John joked, lightly punching Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock gave a small chuckle and watched Molly looking out to the water, as the fiery colors dyed the clouds soft pinks and purples. Again she fit perfectly in his arm, as if she had been genetically formed to fit the awkward arms of a future Sherlock Holmes. The idea puzzled him, so Sherlock simply kissed the top of her head.

That was one of her favorite things that he did. It may be childish, but when Sherlock kissed the top of Molly's head, she felt safe and protected, and above all, loved. Every day, she fell farther in love with this man, and her feelings were almost starting to scare her. She didn't know she had the capacity to feel this way. In order to calm herself, her ear searched for his pounding heart again. 'Ah, there it is.'

He smiled to himself, watching the couple, and Lestrade squished his toes in the sand and gazed, wondering what his wife might be doing. 'Or who she was doing...' the idea made him sad so he sighed and found he was staring back at his friends. 'Friends? These people...' It was something he never imagined. In university, sure he had his blokes and mates. Eventually he was moving on to detective and meeting Sherlock for the first time, madder than a box of cats, but clever and someone willing to help him when he needed him most.

John usually hated complete silence, but this one was alright. Everyone seemed to just be quietly basking in each other's company. He snuck a peek at Lestrade and saw that he had his eyes on Sherlock and Molly. There was joy in his expression, but also some sadness. John knew that Lestrade's marriage was far from a happy one, and he was probably feeling a bit jealous. John knew the feeling well. As happy as he was for the two of them, he couldn't help but feel envious of the love they shared. How could he ever be lucky enough to find something like that? He decided that when they returned he'd make a real effort to find companionship, not like before when he'd just been trying to fill the void Sherlock had left.

Slowly the sun dipped behind the edge of the earth, it's light giving way to the creeping darkness, sky mostly clear as the dark clouds of yesterday far gone to replaced with the fresh ones and the lights of civilization far away. Sherlock gave a sigh, desiring to remain here with his companions, lying quietly and enjoying the beauty of everything around them. A real sense of happiness warmed him and it was different than before. Meeting John for the first time. Glad to find a flat mate. John shooting the Cabby for him. Relief and trust. The Palace with John. Happy. His first real friend. Knowing his other new friends were safe when he fled London, more of a mixture of everything from anger and bitterness to despair and lonliness. Falling asleep in Molly's flat for the first time, he was really blissful. Waking up in the hospital surrounded by John and Molly, he was touched. And now- now... there was no words left to describe it, Sherlock concluded.

Molly vaguely became aware that she was still in her swimming suit and it was starting to get cold, but she ignored this. She didn't want to break the spell that seemed to have fallen over the group. And she was so comfortable here, nestled in these familiar arms that encompassed her. She realized how tired she was, her eyelids slowly drooping until they closed and she neared unconsciousness.

Lestrade flickered his eyes to John and tilted his head back to the cart, slowly getting up, trying not to disturb the sand.

John stood as quietly as he could and followed Lestrade. Molly Hooper looked so small in sleep and he didn't want to wake her.

"Here, let's get it set up for them, they've had a long enough day," suggested Lestrade, having finally forgiven Sherlock for the earlier incident and started to unpack.

"Good plan." John responded, "Hang on though." He grabbed the heaviest blanket and brought it down to Sherlock and Molly, covering them and gave a small smile to Sherlock before returning to help Lestrade pitch the tents.

In the last moments he had felt the creature in his arms give a slight shiver, so he held tighter for warmth. The remaining moments in his mind were slipped away before something had covered them, and he smiled to guess who it was...

Lestrade and John got everything set up rather quickly, only proving John's theory that Sherlock really didn't do much to help the process along. For all his genius and expertise about most things, Sherlock Holmes was rubbish at doing normal, everyday activities.

"How beautiful, falling asleep with a pretty girl in your arms and your friends watch on, how sweet," the voice called out in the dark.

"You are not here, you don't exist!"

"O I very much so exist and even if I didn't I still would."

"What do you mean?"

"Because I am the Fear. Don't you remember everything Daddy told you? I am everything that is horrible and terrible about you Sher-"

"Do not say my name!"

"Oooo testy...You know you don't deserve her right? I think it's all mere pity and clinginess."

"Stop it!"

"You can't kill an idea. Remember that..."

Left alone in the dark he collapsed and sobbed.

Molly felt herself shaking and opened her eyes. She discovered it was Sherlock who was doing the shaking...and sobbing.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, are you alright?"

Bolting up he looked around, still in darkness but found someone beside him. He blinked and wiped an arm across his face.

"Again?" he asked in a panic.

"No, no it's fine. I'm okay," Molly answered quickly, knowing where his mind had gone, "Are you though...? You were, um... shaking a bit." She decided to leave out the sobs. That would only embarrass him.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep; I told myself I would try not to do so around you. Where are-" when Sherlock turned around, he saw the camp was set up behind him with a fire and everything.

"How long we been out?"

"No idea. I just woke up myself." When she saw the campsite, she added, "Oh that was nice of them. I'm surprised they didn't throw a fit and make you help."

Quickly rubbing his face with a palm, Sherlock got up and helped Molly up, "Oi, so where's our dinner, eh?"

Glad he had taken the initiative to start up some food, John snarkily retorted, "Actually, it's right here," adding a smug smile. Giving an exaggerated sigh, Sherlock stepped to the cart and searched his duffel bag and smiled finding what he been looking for.

"Had to save the best for tonight," he remarked pulling out an expensive vodka and whiskey, giving to the boys a wink.

"Ah, excellent!" The food was just finishing up, so John placed it on four plates and handed them around, "I think this means you're on breakfast duty then, Sherlock."

"As Molly knows I cook with excellence, right? I promise nothing will 'blow up' or catch 'on fire'."

"He actually isn't bad," Molly answered with a smile and a yawn, "He's made breakfast a few times and I've never experienced food poisoning."

"O thanks!" Sherlock scoffed and ate some food, now realizing how hungry he had been, "Either way, I would like to announce we are here in honor of Molly Hooper, so this is her night, and let it be a good one," he said after pouring himself a shot and offered the rest to everyone else.

"That's right! It's almost your birthday, isn't it?" John exclaimed, taking the shot, "Well, I'll drink to that. Happy, early though it may be, birthday Molly Hooper!"

"To Molly then," Lestrade sung happily as he knocked his back.

"Although I do apologize to all of you, no doubt I may have... scared you under the premise in order to get you all to come out here. Molly's too clever so I had to do it early and I couldn't tell you lot because you might blab."

"Hey," Lestrade retorted.

"I could've kept it a secret!" John answered defensively, "You really did have me worried, Sherlock. I thought for sure this was some intricate and dangerous trap," he turned to Molly, "That's okay though. I'm glad we could celebrate your day in style."

Molly blushed heavily and downed her own shot, always felt awkward being the center of attention, but was very grateful all the same.

"Thank you," she began, "All of you. So much. This is the best birthday present I could ever imagine. You're all so wonderful!" She looked at Sherlock, "Especially you. Thank you," ending with a kissed on the cheek.

Unfortunately, he blushed and in his mind he could already hear the smug remarks from Lestrade. But he did give her a smile and poured her another shot for her, "Happy to do so love."

Molly tried to hide how much bigger her smile got, because she found his blush to be one of the cutest things in the world, and she imagined he'd get even more embarrassed by that. In order to straighten her expression back out, she looked down into her drink and gulped it down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys, here on out, idea and setting taken from the film "Third Star" so credit goes to them. Would have announced it before but did not want to spoil surprise for those who had seen it. Enjoy future chapters!


	15. Chapter 15

Together the campers drank and had not a care in the world, then someone, no one remembered who, but somehow they all broke out in a chorus of song, dancing around the fire.

Molly was singing, dancing and laughing so hard that she had to sit down. Her lung capacity hadn't quite returned in its entirety yet, so she settled for watching her drunken friends continue the song, still laughing hysterically.

"He is no gypsy, my father" she said

"But lord of these lands all over,

And I shall stay 'til my dying day

With my whistling gypsy rover."

Singing together they finished on a laugh and clanked their glasses together.

"You maaaates is the greeeeeatessst," Lestrade slurred a little.

"Couldn't agree with you more, Greg," John said loudly and drunkenly, "I just love you all -hiccup- so much," 'Okay, shut up now John, you're getting weirdly emotional again.'

"But I... I um...what was I saying... oh yes I love you. Detective, soldier, and my...um..." Sherlock just tipped over on his side in a fit of giggles, "my lass."

Molly joined his tipsy giggling, answering, "I could go with 'lass.' Though I suspect that would make you my lad!" Vaguely realizing that this wouldn't be as funny if she wasn't this drunk, she too fell over onto her side and registered that the others were laughing as well.

"Ok, ok this has to happen. We have to play, The Game," Lestrade said in a wicked grin.

"Excuse me?" Sherlock's head tilt almost sent him falling.

"You know the game, Never Have I Ever."

"Is this the one where you drink if you've done the thing that the person never has?" Molly asked, almost confusing herself with the sentence.

"Yes, mhm. I'll go first... um... I never rode the Eye. Eye of London," Lestrade confessed.

"What?" Sherlock shocked, "Surely the detective as a small boy rode it once?"

"Nope."

Sherlock took a swig.

"You've got me on that one," and Molly drank.

"Me too," said John, downing his as well.

"Oh! My turn!" Molly shouted excitedly, "I've never..." she thought for a moment, then added sweetly, "fired a gun."

"Not fair!" John retorted, but drank nonetheless.

Sherlock and Lestrade grinned at each other, quickly firing there's back.

"John?"

"Okay, okay... I've never...Oh! I've never been to Paris. Always wanted to go, just never did."

"Neither have I," Molly said, leaving her drink where it was.

"Sorry guys," Sherlock was the only one to drink.

"Mate where haven't you been?"

"Oh there are a number of countries. Colombia, Australia, Mon-" he prattled.

"Alright alright hush," John waved his hand at him.

"Your turn, Sherlock!" Molly teased.

"I have never been to a proper amusement park."

John grumbled as they all took their shots.

"We're certainly going to have to change that," Molly added, "Looks like when we get back, we'll be taking a trip to the Ferris wheel, an amusement park, and Paris!"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "Really... I do not protest!"

"Hooray! We definitely need more trips like this." Ever since Moriarty had come into her life, these three men here were the only people in the world Molly knew she could trust whole heartedly and it was an utter relief to be completely secluded from everything else with them.

"Now let's see... I never got picked up by the cops when I was younger," Lestrade said lazily.

John raised his glass to his lips, looking embarrassed.

"John, really you must tell. The riveting story how proper Doctor John Watson was caught in a hot situation," Sherlock narrated dramatically as he downed another.

"I lied, but spill," Lestrade demanded, drinking his.

"I was sixteen alright?!" John slurred, "My friend's cousin had lent us his car... or what we thought was his car. We got pulled over because it was reported stolen. After half a night in jail, the cousin's grandmother called in saying she'd forgot she lent it out and had called the cops, thinking someone nicked it." The volume of snickering began and his cheeks reddened.

"I didn't do anything illegal or anything! But technically, yeah, I've been picked up by the cops."

"Oh hoho, John's embarrassed," Lestrade teased, "None for you then Molly? The good girl?"

"Nope. I was a goody-two-shoes," she half smiled. Being the good kid, she missed out on a lot of experiences. This meant she never got into trouble, but boy was staying out of trouble dull work. At least it gave her an advantage in this game, though.

"My turn then? I never snuck out of my house as a kid," Molly proudly stated with a puff of her chest.

Smirking, Sherlock took two shots just to cover it all and Lestrade chuckled as he took one of his own.

"Partially why I was arrested a few times," Sherlock explained.

"Similar, but apparently not as much as you mate," Lestrade chuckled.

"Hey, hey, I had to tell my story," said John after taking a shot, "Why were you guys arrested?"

"Well one brawl in a pub when a guy made a pass at my girl, but that was during the university days," Lestrade smiled mischievously at the nostalgia, "and also vandalizing and trespassing. My friend and I see, found this old abandoned place right, it was great! Get some drinks and mess about. Invite a girl or two. Sherlock?"

"Me? At first I was shooed away from multiple crime scenes, I tried to give advice before I was banned. Couple times I would sneak out to go re-check a few scenes to confirm my theories, and eventually leading to my arrest. Fights in school were common, though only one to place me in custody was one time when I place a bugger in the hospital."

Just like before, Molly found hearing about Sherlock's past immensely interesting. The alcohol, however, was preventing her from formulating terribly eloquent sentences. "Wow... look at my lad, being a bad ass," Molly ended this deep revelation with a loud hiccup.

"Never received a sentence, based on the testimony it had been self defense, which is good because a couple years in jail would have been dull. Boring." Sherlock paused to watch though the haze his pretty girl, all thoughts clouded.

"Guess I am a bad ass..."

'Oh, God, not another laughing fit!' But try as she might, Molly couldn't stop the giggles from bubbling to the surface. She was very tired and very drunk, so she scooted over to Sherlock and used him as a pillow. Really Molly did not want to sleep yet, but she definitely needed to at least partially lie down.

"No love," Sherlock lifted her head gently and let it rest on the sand, "I'm sleeping away from you tonight ok?" Sherlock stood up, tipping, but his voice very serious.

Molly turned to him, eyes wide feeling torn between her hatred of sleeping alone and her fear of what happened this morning. Also she didn't want him to have to sleep alone, especially not with those terrible dreams of his.

"But... but... I trust you."

"And I am happy that you do. I can't trust myself ok? Please," Sherlock pleaded, "Right John?"

"I'm sorry, Molly, but he's right," John told her.

Glancing back and forth between them, she realized she was going to lose this one. "Fine." She sat up and turned away from the group.

"But if you have any deathly terrifying nightmares, you come wake me up." she added quietly.

"Night then I suppose..." Sherlock trailed off as she entered her usual tent and Lestrade mumbled something incoherent before he dragged himself in the other,

"Are you bunking up with us then?" John asked standing and dusting sand from his legs.

"I better stay out here, please don't trouble yourself," Sherlock looked to his friend, the world tilted when he did so.

John reached out and steadied Sherlock.

"Okay... if you think that's best." Together, they created him a make-shift bed out of blankets and pillows. "Listen, Molly was right. If you have any nightmares, or really, need anything at all, wake somebody up."

Acknowledging him, Sherlock stood up and slowly moved to the water's edge to sit back down. Knees to chest he watched the waves lap near his feet and then rested his chin on his arms. It felt good to stay up late again, not sleeping. Because of Molly he had been forced to sleep like a normal person, totally against his nature, but here the stars shone out and reminded him of a particular time he had run away. It was during spring time, near the end of the semester of school and his father was furious of him. Failing grades again, the brawls, and the start of drugs.

What else was there to do in his boredom? During the incident, Sherlock sat in the chair in front of his father's desk, off in some other world, ignoring him, until his father slapped him. Mycroft had been near Sherlock at the time and rushed in defending his brother, arguing how Father was never around for either of them to even give notice. Being a smart aleck, he deduced that Father was intending to see his Mistress again when suddenly Mycroft was given a blow upside the head, knocked to the ground unconscious. Now Sherlock's attention drew him back to earth and he had gone after Father with a letter opener from his desk, but was tossed off, his opponent having more experience on him. When Mycroft stirred a moment later, Sherlock slightly relaxed and snarled a good night before stomping off to bed. Hours later he had found himself in the back of truck until days later when Mycroft walked onto the beach, asking him to come home.

Molly watched from the mouth of her tent as Sherlock sat by the water. He looked relatively peaceful out there. She knew he liked being alone and didn't care much for sleeping, only putting up with it for her sake, but she couldn't help feeling lonely without him. Releasing a small sigh Molly took one last look at him then turned and lay down, pulling her blanket over herself. She feared she wouldn't be getting much sleep tonight. The memory of this morning still flashed through her mind constantly, and though he was the cause of that, she'd feel much safer in Sherlock's arms. Molly shook her head, trying to clear it, but had no luck. The alcohol she'd consumed wasn't helping her thoughts organize, so she resorted to lying there, eyes open, her mind buzzing.

"So what's on your brain?"

"Get the hell out of here," Sherlock mumbled as the psychopath plopped down next to him.

"Awww, come on Sherly, she's safe in there with the animal out here," he said with a smirk.

"This is all your fault," Sherlock stood up and started to walk away.

"You can't run from me. I'm always here or there. That's the fun of hunting, the chase, the waiting. The pursuit."

"No."

"Or is it that you're thinking about John?"

That got Sherlock to freeze, "Don't you dare bring John into this," he hissed.

"Touchy spot then? Still love him?"

Eyes turned to the sand, Sherlock remained silent for a moment.

"Truth Sherlock."

"I dunno. No... It's Molly..."

"You lie!"

"FUCK OFF" Sherlock shouted.

"Johnny sittin' in a tree-"

"I DID ALRIGHT! BUT- STOP CONFUSING ME!?"

Still lying awake, Molly heard Sherlock's voice from outside and leaped to her feet. Outside the tent, she ran directly into John.

"Oof, sorry Molly," he grunted.

"No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come bolting out of there like that. I just heard..." and she gestured hurriedly to the figure on the beach.

"Yeah, me too," John replied.

Molly paused for a moment, thinking because she wanted to be there for Sherlock, but if John was already preparing to help, she might as well leave it to him. In the very unlikely event that Sherlock got violent again, John would have a much better chance of handling the situation.

"I suppose he only needs one person at the moment... Go on and let me know if I can be of any help," Molly told him, turning to gaze at Sherlock before returning to her tent.

John nodded and continued his brisk jog until he reached his friend.

"Hey, Sherlock are you alright?" he asked, grabbing him by the shoulders.

"STOP IT!" Eyes wide, he quickly knocked John to the ground and backed up, "Stop asking me to choose!"

"SHERLOCK!" John bellowed, pushing himself up from the ground and springing into a standing position. He jumped forward and grabbed Sherlock again, hoping to get him fully conscious without the use of real violence. Sherlock wound his arm back to punch him, but then he realized it was John.

"Sorry..." he murmured as he lowered his arm and stiffly walked back to the water. John followed closely and asked in a hushed whisper,

"Sherlock...what was that? What is going on with you?" As always, he tried to keep his voice completely steady and emotionless, but he was still slightly intoxicated, and the worry seeped through to his words.

"Nothing John, just go back to sleep ok."

"Like I'm leaving you alone after that," John put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder again, though this time for comfort rather than necessity, "Was it him again? Moriarty?"

Sherlock flicked his eyes to him and then back to the water.

"Yes... but he was here John... he really was..."

"Okay, okay, it's alright now, Sherlock," John said calmly, though his mind was in a frenzy. When Sherlock Holmes started to lose it, there was no hope for anyone else. He was starting to seriously worry for Sherlock's well being. Obviously, being through the things he had, there was a reason for the break downs, and John understood this well, but it didn't make it any easier to watch.

"Listen, maybe you should stay in with Greg and me tonight. If you don't want to do that, I'll just have to sit out here with you until morning. Your choice."

"I'm going mad John... I'm a threat to everyone..." then out of panic, he realized John must have noticed or heard him to have come over, "John...what did you hear exactly...?"

"Just heard you mumbling then shouting for someone to stop something. Didn't catch much more than that. I missed a lot of it when Molly ran into me in her rush to come help you," he gestured back towards her tent, "She thought it was best if I came down rather than her though."

"Ah ha," Sherlock released a heavy sigh and shifted his legs so he was cross legged, "Thank you though... again... as usual..."

John sat next to him, "Of course. Always here to help. You know that."

"Yes... yes..." Sherlock rested his head on John's shoulder, "Good flat mate too."

John smiled and responded, "I have to be, I've got to put up with you" punching Sherlock's arm.

With a grunt Sherlock managed a smile, "So what do we do Doctor?"

"Oh about what specifically, my good friend?"

"Madness... it might get worse. More violent. I do not want to kill anyone John."

He paused for a moment before answering. "Well... if you want to get through this, you may actually have to talk about it," he said, tentatively, "I know you don't love discussing feelings and fears, but in order to fix whatever's going on, you can't keep bottling things up."

"Heh... god where to begin then? Troubled teen, recovering drug addict, suicidal, and the list can go on. Where would you like to start," Sherlock asked calmly.

John pushed past the slight surprise at Sherlock's bluntness and responded, "For now, just tell me about these dreams." They would, one day, get to Sherlock's intense past, but the nightmares seemed to be what pushed him over the edge, and they should deal with them immediately.

"Maybe... before I came back to London I suppose," Sherlock strained to remember, "At first most of it was from ... I would like to say that day but a couple of incidents have been piling up...I assume they started after The Fall."

John's voice caught in his throat. 'The Fall'. Yes, well John himself had had quite a few nightmares regarding that day as well. Of course, what haunted him would be wildly different from what haunted Sherlock. He gave a small cough to clear his throat and asked

"And the more recent ones? The ones that caused...violence? I gather Moriarty turns up, but what happens?"

"Please don't tell Molly..." the thought made him clutch his bad shoulder, "But when I was chasing after the web strands of Moriarty's remaining group I got caught..."

Eyes widening unintentionally, John held his breath, waiting. He'd been wondering what had happened that had so altered Sherlock's behavior and attitude towards life... was he finally about to learn this secret?

"It- it was three days, the longest ever, I heard rumors about something in Denmark, so I followed the trail. But it had been a trap the whole time apparently."

"And then...?" John asked, not really sure he wanted to hear the answer, but knowing it was best if Sherlock talked it out.

"It was... some of it I don't remember...this," he gripped his shoulder, "maybe a burn and cut with infection? Course water torture... and each and every other time a drop fell...I heard his voice. And he told me..." he gave a shudder.

"Told you what, Sherlock?" John's voice was definitely quivering now. He hated hearing these things, hating knowing what Moriarty had done to his very best friend, but they had to be said, so took a deep breath and continued listening.

"He told me how you killed yourself or he would change it around and say how he paid a visit to Mrs. Hudson, or -that this was all in my mind, I was some man who held a dull job and coped by living out his fantasies as some clever detective."

"Oh, God..." John's hand shot out to grip Sherlock's shoulder tightly. He couldn't imagine living through that. Just the thought that Sherlock had killed himself had nearly driven John mad, but Sherlock was faced with that feeling, on top of torture and worry for Mrs. Hudson. No wonder he'd cracked. He didn't even want to know if Sherlock had ever broken enough to believe any of it, so he instead asked

"And... and you escaped?"

"I never escaped. My first- the first attempt ended... ended me up with this," nodding to the ugly scar that hid beneath his shirt, "after that there was no escape. Never was."

"Then... how did you get out? He didn't just let you leave, did he?"

"Last I remember was I woke up in an alleyway, left out like rubbish. Before then it was worse- please especially don't tell Molly about this, but... there was one day and-" Sherlock swallowed thickly and fought to not shake,  
"I was drugged and not fully aware... I don't recall what I did, it was sometimes dark and... 'Call me Daddy' he insisted. 'Daddy's still not happy!' and," his eyes were wide open in terror and he was back in the room, quivering, naked, and bleeding from all the various wounds...almost everywhere. He wanted to die.

"A-and...?" John inquired, shakily, internally praying to God that Sherlock wouldn't finish this story.

"Um...I-I- was able to get out when some lackey became reckless... yes. But now at night I feel him breathing on my neck and he's whispering or licking my skin or drinking my blood."

John closed his eyes and shook his head. "Sherlock...I...I'm so..." 'Sorry' didn't begin to cover it. Any sort of verbal comforting would sound hollow coming from someone that hadn't experienced anything like the trauma Sherlock had, so John added nothing more. He wanted to hug Sherlock, find a way to take away all of this pain, this hurt. Sherlock found John's hand and gripped it, his hand finally shaking violently

"Keep me here John, please keep me grounded," he pleaded.

"I'll try, Sherlock," John could feel himself getting choked up and pulled Sherlock in for a tight hug, "I promise, I will."

"If anything happens, I need you to stop me. If I get worse you might be the only one left to quell me. If I grow worse... you might have to kill me John, if the situation calls for it."

"I..." John trailed off, looking into the eyes of his very best friend and absorbed what he was being asked, "Sherlock, I can't promise you that. We're going to fix this. You're going to get better."

"You have to. Who knows what might happen again, especially with him still out there. We do not know his next move and yes we saw what he is capable of, yet what if there is more? What if he creates another game? Something worse."

"Something far worse. If my death means someone else is protected, then I'm willing to sacrifice it. You or Molly, anyone else," Sherlock bit his lip and hand tightening more around John.

The army doctor stared in disbelief for a full minute before he finally responded, "Fine. If we arrive at a point where that is literally the only option, then you have my word." He felt sick for agreeing, but knew that Sherlock wouldn't stop until he got a 'yes'.

"It is the worst favor I could ever ask you, but if I have to be put down I'm willing to accept it and have all the responsibility rest on my shoulders," Sherlock relaxed, John's shoulder felt comforting and then slowly his body sank so his head rested on John's thigh. It did not happen often, but bit by bit he could feel the heaviness creep up his muscles, almost pushing him into the sand. Instinctively, Sherlock took John's right arm and wrapped it under his chin, locked in his safety to know he was there.

"Glad I can always count on you J-...J...j..."

"Always," John's voice caught in his throat, "You know I'm here for you whatever happens." He coughed to clear his throat a bit. Now Sherlock mumbled something incoherent, restful against his friend, as if some force field John emitted kept the bad thought away, the negative energies and nightmares. Not long before his mind left the world, for once peaceful.

John sat awake for some time, feeling as though he needed to protect Sherlock from something, but eventually laid his head down and drifted off into sleep as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Whistling Gypsy/ The Gypsy Rover by Leo Maguire


	16. Chapter 16

It was beautiful. The complete nothingness. Not even chaos reigned here, so there was no need to cower or feel threatened. Basking in the peace, a peace he once used to hate, he discovered his solace. What was his name? Did it really matter? Not in the slightest he concluded. Rest, simple rest.

"I want breakfasssst."

"Mmm mh wher…"

"I'm hungryyyyy," it said with a whine.

"Brea- wha?" With heavy lids, Sherlock slowly blinked, shielding the sunlight with a hand.

"Yes, now we can eat!"

Groggily, Sherlock carefully sat up; tenderly giving John back his arm he swayed sleepily with a yawn.

"Whasss it noon?"

"Mhm, we all slept in late. Damn good stuff you gave us last night Sherlock," responded Lestrade, giving himself a stretch after exiting his tent.

"Indeed. Ok I'll get to work. I guess if you might check on Molly for me?" Sherlock asked.

"No problem mate."

Lestrade moved near the tent and pressed an ear against the wall, "Mollly... pssst... you up?" he whispered loudly.

"I'm up," Molly called. She had dozed off every once in awhile throughout the night, but for the most part, she hadn't slept. Already dressed, she left her tent to join the others.

"Morning sweetheart, looks like our two girls got beauty rest over there eh?" Lestrade nudged, observing John lying in the warm sand and quickly sat around a new fire where Sherlock started on some sausages and more pancakes.

Molly shoved him a little and said "Oh, quiet, you." She quietly sat down next to Sherlock and asked in a very small voice, "How'd you sleep?"

"Quite well actually, though could use a bit more of it. I'm thinking after breakfast, a good swim, and a nap. Yes, that sounds pleasant," he thought out loud.

"That does sound pleasant," Molly agreed, "Mind if I join?" If she had Sherlock with her, maybe she would be able to nap.

"Sure... I'll try it again. At least not entwined with the beautiful body of yours, love."

"John and Lestrade can keep an eye out just in case... anything happens," careful with her words, not wishing to say 'in case you lash out in your sleep and almost kill me again' so 'anything' would have to do.

"Excellent. Actually, could you get him for me, I must have worn him out, poor bugger," Sherlock observed the man sleeping comfortably.

"Of course," Molly stood and made her way down to the place in the sand where John was laying. She shook his shoulder.

"John, John wake up."

"Wha-Oh, morning Molly" John said, yawning.

"Morning-ish. Come on, food's cooking." She reached out her hand and helped him up.

Good Mornings were exchanged and the four ate heartily. The rest of the day they worked off the consequences of the night before, swimming, napping, or exploring the area. Sherlock helped Molly collect sea shells, and John had to bandage Lestrade because he stepped on a crab and had been horribly pinched on a toe. Sun bathing, enjoying one another's company, mostly in silence, and again it was the comfortable silence that was equally shared.

Molly smiled at her small collection of seashells as the group lay on the sand near the water's edge. She put the pile down then picked one and tossed it to John, who just barely caught it. Seeing where she was going with this, he grinned and pitched it back to her, continuing the game of catch in the same silence. To Sherlock's annoyance, Spider Lestrade ended up on his back again, even when he sat in the sand, he remained fixated on there.

"That's it!" Sherlock shouted, causing Lestrade to jump away from him, especially since Sherlock ran over near the rock wall and started walking in an odd, counted slow pace. Molly dropped the shell she'd just caught, leaped up, and rushed over to Sherlock.

"Hey! What was that all about?" she asked when she reached him.

"Five...six..." he counted, heel to tow eventually his feet made its way up the grass. Lestrade rolled his eyes at John before getting up and following the couple. John got himself up too and brought up the rear.

"Sherlock, what are you doing now?"

"Twenty-three, twenty-four...o hello..." Sherlock stared at a rock for a moment and then he flipped it over, furiously attacking the earth, ripping clumps away as blades of grass invaded the air. Molly exchanged confused looks with the others. John shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, not knowing what was going on. Sherlock was so focused on what he was doing that he seemed to be tuning them out, so they stood in silence waiting for him to find whatever it was he was looking for.

Panting, his fingertips scrapped something not of dirt, and with both hands, he pulled out a small tin box, now slightly rusted. Ever so carefully, Sherlock slipped his nails underneath the rim to pry it open and peered inside.

"How could I forget you..." he picked up a small plastic brown pirate ship, even the Jolly Roger was raised high.

Smiling, Molly asked him, "Did you make that?"

"No. Mycroft bought it once for my birthday and the last time I was here, when I ran away, I decided to bury it. How could I forget! I told myself to come back here someday to unbury it, maybe when I grew older, if I made it that far," Sherlock smiled, turning the ship over again and again. Small enough it fit comfortably in his palms.

Molly bent down to have a closer look at it as well. "Well, I'm glad you remembered." The boyish grin on Sherlock's face warmed Molly to the core. Being out here in a place that he associated so much with his youth was bringing out the less harsh and severe side of Sherlock. It was making Molly fall even harder for him; something she did not believe was possible.

The smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and giving a sigh, he placed the small ship back in its container and brought it over to the rest of the supplies.

"I won't forget, not again."

It was nearing sundown and John was starting to get hungry again. "Dinner?" he suggested, "Though, may I request that we lay off the booze tonight? I definitely don't want to deal with a hangover two days in a row."

"I only packed that stuff for two or three night. Can't be intoxicated on our way back now, right?" Sherlock laughed.

"This has been great, but I can use a shower mate...and a shave," Lestrade noted as he rubbed his chin. Self conscious, Sherlock rubbed his and also found stubble.

"I second that idea," Molly said realizing how much she craved a shower.

"Well, once we are up, pack and trek back then," Sherlock noted a little sadly, wishing for the trip to continue forever, but reality had its price, "Though there is one more thing we still didn't do..."

"And what is that?" Molly inquired, wandering over to him and slipping her hand into his.

"Someone has to be buried."

"What are you talking about?" John asked, thoroughly confused.

"You know, dig a big old hole, dump a body- I mean person in there, hehe..." snickering at John's disapproval when referring to a murder case.

"You have fun with that, because that person is not, under any circumstances, going to be me," John told Sherlock, eyeing him suspiciously.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Ok fine. I was only thinking of you because if we planted you, maybe you might sprout and grow a bit taller."

"Don't be an ass," John punched Sherlock's shoulder, but smiled anyway.

"Well, it's definitely not going to be me!" Molly insisted. "And that only leaves one person" she added slyly.

Lestrade was already slinking away then, but when they all turned their heads to them he booked it in panic.

"Oooo bloody hell no!"

"Come here, let me love you darling!" Sherlock ran after him, "John and Molly, start digging!"

They burst out laughing, yet followed instructions promptly, scrambling madly at the sand to make a hole big enough for Lestrade. After another five minutes, "Sorry for the wait everyone," Sherlock waved. Behind him something squirmed and thrashed. Lestrade was tied by the wrists and attached to his ankles, Sherlock pulled a long rope.

"I'll kill you..." Lestrade seethed, but ended up with some sand in his mouth after accidently flipping over on his stomach.

"You don't think that's a bit of overkill, darling?" Molly asked, laughing all the same.

"What?! He wouldn't cooperate."

Near them, Sherlock dropped the rope and stooped down to help them. Finding them distracted, Lestrade began to inch away like a worm-

"Not going to get far," said Sherlock, not even looking up. Molly leaned down and pinched Lestrade's cheek smiling coyly.

"Let's just say this is revenge for the jokes about me cooking and the sexual innuendos from the other day."

Shocked at Molly, Lestrade froze, and knew not what to do with himself; instead he rolled on his back and accepted his fate.

"Very good Molly, isn't she great John?"

"Pretty great, yeah," John answered, grinning and clapping Molly on the back, "You've got yourself a keeper, Sherlock."

Awkwardly, Sherlock did not dare look at Molly, so in haste gripped the rope and pulled Lestrade in.

"Noooo! No, no, no, no."

Sherlock laughed menacingly, "No escaping me now! Gregory Lestrade!"

Molly stepped back to let the boys finish their shenanigans and watched, grinning from the side as Lestrade gave up on moving, remaining still. Defeated. Sherlock giggled a bit as he took a few hand fulls of sand and dropped them in. Just as giddy, John helped Sherlock begin to fill in the hole, feeling a certain pleasure knowing he was burying a high ranking law enforcer in sand. Groaning an moaning, Lestrade muttered underneath his breathe,

"Please Molly; I take back everything I said. Really!" he whimpered.

"Oh come now, Lestrade. It's not going to hurt you or anything. Be a man and let us have our fun."

They all laughed a good deal until everything was buried up to his head, as if he never had a body.

"Hmm, I think I'm getting a bit hungry, what about you guys?" Sherlock suggested without looking at Lestrade.

"My, food does sound quite appealing!" Molly answered, giggling again.

"I could definitely go for some food." John agreed.

"What but- but..." Lestrade started to babble.

"Just sit tight Lestrade maybe when we are done."

It was torture. They buried Lestrade so he faced the encampment and he was suffering. Watching them smack their mouths about, joke, and taste, what he guessed from the smell, was extra delicious. Dusk arrived and the campfire began to die down, so did the trio. Sherlock gave a bit of a yawn and wrapped his hand around Molly's shoulders.

"You want to try again?" he asked.

She brought her hand up to meet his and answered "Mhm." She looked over to Lestrade and added, "Shall we get him out though?"

"No. He can survive the night. Well good night John," Sherlock saluted Lestrade before leading Molly inside.

"If you say so," Molly shrugged her shoulders as she entered the tent and keeping to the entrance, she stood awkwardly. Vivid memories of the last time they'd shared the tent rose to the top of her mind. To calm she shook her head to clear it of the image of Sherlock with his hands around her neck. 'Stop it, you were the one that wanted him back in here anyway.' she told herself. Molly knew that in order to heal, she'd have to force herself back into her old routine, but there was something dark in Sherlock's subconscious that she still feared.

Sherlock kicked off his trousers and leaned back with his hands behind his head... Is this safe? Well talking and admitting to what had happened made him feel a bit comfortable, but- and then he saw her standing there. Molly may have not realized it although it was written all over her face. The idea made him sad, to think a loyal loved one would be so terrified of their significant other, yet loved them too much to let go. This ended up as his best opinion and then he turned on his side and faced the wall.

"Night love."

Watching over him Molly felt her heart drop at how pained his voice sounded. After a moment she realized he must have deduced what she was thinking and her cheeks flushed. Breathing in deeply and gathering her courage, she moved from her position by the door and lay beside him. Her hand found way his shoulder and squeezing it, she whispered "I'm so sorry." Remaining still, he drew in a breath. "Please do not apologize. I mean hell Molly after what I did; I wouldn't sleep next to myself."

"That wasn't your fault! And I know it," Feeling immediately ashamed, she retracted her hand and turned away from him, "I'm just being silly."

"No. You. Are. Not." he raised his voice without meaning to, further frustrating himself. And they had had such a wonderful day too; here he was shattering the peace. Hearing his voice grow louder, Molly quickly responded "Sorry!" As usual, she was apologizing too much. It was her default when she got nervous. The detective really hated himself again.

"Look Molly..." but he really hadn't come up with anything to say, "..."

Behind him Molly closed her eyes, trying to will away the guilt that was consuming her. Her minute of hesitation to lay with him had ruined everything, and began shaking slightly due to the incredible amount of emotions battling inside her, but remained silent. Stuck, Sherlock threw away logic and reacted on impulse. Crawling to Molly, he laid next to her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressed his face into her side.

"I don't know what I'll do if I hurt you again Molly..."

At his touch, Molly ignored the rest of her feelings, turned herself around and curled up into him. "It's okay. I know you didn't mean to and I meant what I said before. I'll be here to help you until we get rid of these nightmares, I promise."

God she was so perfect. Why she remained with him was anyone's guess because it physically ached Sherlock to be in the presence of such a wonderful human being. Slowly he let out of few tears, both happy and sad before he swallowed and nuzzled into her stomach.

"I love you Molly."

"I love you, too" Molly answered, kissing his forehead, noticing the couple of tears falling from Sherlock's eyes and forced herself not to follow suit. She needed to be the strong one here, for him.

By some miracle they fell asleep together, fitting like a puzzle piece or a never ending cycle of one trying to comfort the other. The sun rose and the party eventually awakened. Almost like being born again, Lestrade was free from his prison and begged forgiveness at the feet of the couple. Packed and ready, the group looked back at the bay in the sense of bitter sweetness.

"Well, it was a nice getaway," John lamented, "Thanks for bringing us here, Sherlock, and once again, happy birthday, Molly."

Molly smiled and slipped her hand into Sherlock's. "Promise we'll come back someday?"

"I promise."


	17. Chapter 17

The months of the calendar were flipped over. Seconds to minutes to hours to days to weeks to months. Sherlock and John solved cases, Molly assisted at Bart's. The nightmares still plague him but Molly was always there to settle back down, and with the quietness of the real Moriarty, they began to relax a little.

Except in this time a piece Sherlock's behavior started to shift again, numerous times he was caught staring off into space or totally lost within himself even though there wasn't a case.

"I'm going out again don't wait up on me you two," Sherlock said as put on his jacket and scarf to brace for the November cold, "Tah!"

This was now the fourth night Sherlock had suddenly left and returned home when everyone was asleep, always having to slid into bed silently. Molly turned, confused, to John. "Where's he off to?"

He shrugged. "No idea."

"You two don't have a case?"

John racked his brain then finally answered, "Not that I know of," answering truthfully but then he saw that she looked concerned, "Come on, Molly. It's Sherlock. In case you haven't noticed, he's a little eccentric."

This had the desired effect of Molly smiling. "I know, I know. I just worry, that's all."

"Will this be all that you need sir?"

"Yes...that should do it?"

"You willing to lose your freedom," the man chuckled.

"Maybe. Not really though."

'Ohhh, that's very sweet of you.'

'Bugger off.'

'Fine, fine. I'll go into the corner and read some fairytale books.'

Two nights later, Sherlock was out again while the others were in 221B and he took in a breath. Another migraine again, but he tried to shake it off.

Molly, I need you at Bart's. Important. -SH

Why? What's wrong? -MH

Please I need you. Safer if you come alone. -SH

I'm on my way -MH

Though she shouldn't be, Molly was panicking. Things had been too quiet, too easy. One little hint of a disturbance was all her brain needed to spin out of control. She threw on her coat quickly, ran down the stairs and hailed a cab. It felt like hours later when the cab finally stopped in front of the hospital and she rushed through the doors.

On the roof. -SH

Sherlock sent the text and he let his feet dangle a bit. The wind sometimes stirred and a few light flurries that had begun to fall.

The woman stared at his words for a moment, confused and suspicious. What could he possibly need on the roof? The same roof he'd leaped off of long ago. Regardless of her continued panic, Molly ran up the stairs and swung open the door.

"Molly..." carefully he stood up, next to the edge and looked at her a bit sadly, "Sorry I had to interrupt you like this. Must be inconvenient."

"You know I'm always here for you." she responded delicately, "What are we doing up here?"

"I'm sorry but we can't go on like this. I can't go on like this. It's not right or proper."

"Go on like what? What's not right?" Molly felt her voice catch in her throat as her paranoia turned to outright terror.

"Simply... we can't keep this relationship, girlfriend boyfriend thing... I'm sorry but it's not working," Sherlock explained coldly as he walked closer to her.

"Wha-why?" she asked, tears falling rapidly from her eyes as she backed away from him, trying not to fall over, "What did I do?"

"That's just it Molly. Nothing. You were yourself and I am forever more grateful for that, really," his eyes kept locked onto her.

"No... No you can't do this. Please don't do this!" She felt herself losing all control, "I love you!" she cried, desperately. "We cannot keep this relationship anymore because I do not want to date you. I do not want you as a girlfriend anymore."

He was in front of her and felt the extreme guilt as she began to breakdown in front of him.

Then he kneeled down at her feet.

"Because I want to marry you and have a wife instead."

The world ceased turning. Molly stood there, open mouthed and let that sentence wash over her. Her heart was pounding so hard she thought it must be about to burst through her chest. "Are you-are you asking...?" she trailed off nervously, knowing full well what he was asking but stunned into confusion all the same.

"Molly Hopper, it would honor me if you were my wife and if I were your husband. Do you accept?"

His fingers pulled out a small box and inside a delicate ring glimmered a bit as he broke out in the biggest grin. In front of him Molly completely forgot to breathe as she stared at him, then the ring, then him again. Once she realized how long she'd been silent, she figured she had probably better give the man an answer. Tears streaming down her face, she replied "Of course!" and leaped down to where he knelt, kissing him passionately. After a minute of this, Molly broke their lips apart and buried herself into his chest, clinging tighter than she ever had before.

"The reason I brought you here Molly is because I have some of my worst memories and nightmares here. It was where I died. I want to change that. I want to remember this as my happiest memory now," Sherlock clung to her in his arms as his voice cracked a bit. On the receiving end she sobbed harder still into his chest, and when she finally regained control over her voice, responded.

"You could have said it better!" though she laughed through the tears. Sherlock kissed her passionately again before clutching her hand and slipped the ring on.

"It completes you."

"I'd say so," Molly answered, holding her hand out in front of her and beaming at the ring. Wiping the tears from her face she added, "God, I love you" in a hushed whisper.

"I love you Molly."

Arriving back at 221B, Mrs. Hudson nearly had a heart attack and cried happily as she held Molly. Living so long under her roof, she felt as if she would be watching her own daughter be married off. John was a bit stunned and nearly choked on his tea before embracing them, nearly tearing up to watch them be so happy together.

A few months later, in May just when everything started to become a lushful green they had their wedding out in the country in a small little church. Molly invited her family and Sherlock invited his adoptive family of John, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson… Mycroft too when Molly scolded him.

It was great, it didn't rain, and Moriarty still remained quiet, but for one whole day, he was out of the consciousness of everyone there. Finally everything slowed down post wedding, and everything returned to relatively normal at 221B. Molly sold her flat and officially, officially lived with them, though when John attempted to move out Sherlock's insisted he stay. Cases came and went. John and Sherlock still a power team with Molly to back them up.

But then...there was one odd and particular case that bothered Sherlock a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stick around for the squeal! Coming...soon... I hope... there is one for sure.


End file.
